Relativity
by januarylightsphere
Summary: "We could, you know, see planets and be lonely together and stuff." Just a little drabble collection spanning numerous hetero pairings and family bondings, mostly nyotalia. /106: England/Nyo!Prussia: Diamond
1. Potion

**AmeViet: Hogwart!AU. **

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"That…" American said, flicking his wand, "…would do it."

Vietnam stared at him, and then directed her gaze to the cauldron and back at him, which made him shift his legs uneasily. Her eyes clearly said: 'If ten more points are taken from Gryffindor for your carelessness, I'll personally manhandle you'. He tried his best to ignore the obvious threat, however, as he looked at the book.

"A few more of turtle shell…"

Much to her relief, the potion didn't explode.

But they had another problem.

"Isn't it supposed to be green?" Vietnam leaned over the cauldron, looking intently at the bubbling substance. America decided it was a good enough sign that she didn't glare at him.

"But I was so sure…"

Wrong move - she shot him an annoyed look before looking at her potion book.

"Well," She stressed each syllables, "It says the potion should be bright blue, like the color of a sky on a sunny day. Or simply, like your eye color."

"Now now, no hexing in class, remember?"

They looked at the potion again.

"Well, it's not like strange things don't happen around us." Vietnam sighed, holding up her wand. "The sky can be green and the grass can be blue."

"Yes, blue sky is such a common thing and we need to change it sometimes." America found his hope of surviving her hexing. "And we're not going to fail this class, are we?"

She shook her head, and cast the spell.

"The only blue thing should be your eyes."

"Did you say something, Vietnam?"

"Your imagination."

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**Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me. **

**Tell me what you think. I'm doing a little exam to improve my writing skill, all comments are welcome. **

**I'll try update daily.**

**Ah yeah, it's crossposted on tumblr.**


	2. Blood

**Blood**

**Characters: Japan, Taiwan.**

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Her brown curls caught in her mouth and the flower on her head fell out as she whipped around, heart hammering inside her chest. Above her was thundering sky, around her was ruined landscape and everything seemed to crack.

"Taiwan." No '-chan' in her name this time as he spoke, and it was like thrusting his katana into her heart, and Taiwan realized she was trembling.

God, she didn't know how long she would be able to stand on her feet.

Dark eyes pierced her skin for brief moment, before Japan moved away, his whole body still tensed for battle, to deal with their brother.

And the childhood memories flashed in her mind.

She was still in love with him.

And Taiwan bled her thousand drops of blood, watching them spill to the ground like blood, and felt her heart break all for him.

She wondered if he still cared now.

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**A/N: I really don't know much about Taiwan's history except that it used to be Japan's colony. I'll do my best not to mess up history. It's a crime. **


	3. Surprise

**Surprise**

* * *

"Hello, Germany!"

Italy's cheerful greeting was responded with utter silence. Germany seemed not to hear her, or rather, he just ignored her. She knew he was ignoring her! As if she'd let it go. With air stored in her cheeks until they puffed up like a balloon, she raised her voice:

"Germany!" No reply.

"Ludwig!" She tugged his sleeves.

He didn't move a budge. He was absorbed in those papers - or, in her opinion, pretended to read them.

Her cheeks turned a shade of rosy, thinking hard. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. Mentally saying sorry to the sleeping Japan, she leaned closer to his ear and...

"AHHHH!"

Out of pure shock, Germany jumped out of his chair and let out a train of swearing in German (he'd learnt from the best source, Italy thought dryly). A clearly angry and deadly glare was shot towards her, obviously showing how much he hated it when people disturbed him when he was working. Well, not that she hadn't done it before, so Italy knew perfectly how to deal with it.

Germany was as good as death when her lips met his.

The kiss was short, but sweet to the taste Italy broke the lips and pouted. "Your ignoring me made me so sad."

If possible, Germany would definitely slap himself for gulping so hard.

"STOP DOING THAT!" He covered his embarrassment by yelling at her, but Italy just blinked her large lovely eyes.

Germany was defeated.

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**A/n: Fluff, fluff, and fluff.**

**Japan: They completely ignored me the whole time.**


	4. Stargazing

**Stargazing,**

Vietnam's always known that the stars blaze so fiercely that they burn themselves out and the light you're seeing may be from an already gone star.

China too has watched stars for thousand of years and known that them, billions of years away, are currently unreachable, but doesn't mean they will always be, and that's why they should be studied before their light disappears. And who knows? Maybe he could live until the day all stars disappear.

One star's gone, another appears.

But when relationship is gone, it's impossible to be the same as before.

The air between them is heavy with the things both know but don't say.

**A/N: It makes no sense. And for some reason, I CAN'T THINK OF A HAPPY ENDING FOR THOSE TWO!**


	5. Difference

**Difference. **

* * *

Sometimes, he ponders, how two girls can be so different.

Prussia's sarcastic, and desperate, and was shattered into million tiny pieces (he doesn't think of her as broken, because she's not and she doesn't need fixing), her hair wild and her clothes neat to hide her bruised heart( her heart is not broken ). She's been in war and seen heartbreak and death, and her eyes are hooded like one who is haunted by all they've seen, all they've done. She stands on the top of a mountain, laughing and twisting and dancing and it's a miracle that she hasn't fallen off yet. She shoves him against the wall, swords glittering and hands can bruise his shoulder as if he can make her feel other things than pain and desperation and emptiness.

Taiwan's light and wonder and innocent and joyful and she makes the whole room brighten if she stands in it, she makes people feel better without trying. She's comfortable sitting next to him, head on his shoulder and hand in hand as they look at her family, happy and content after many hardships. Their family has been broken, Taiwan has been broken, and he's part of it. It isn't strange it's her that holds his heart.

But just for now.

He's always taken a liking to the dark side.

(It's almost unhealthy.)

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**A/n: NyoPrussia/Japan/Taiwan.**

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	6. In

**In.**

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"Bloody hell, tomato bastard!" Romano was yelling at the top of her lung. "You're doing it fucking wrong! I know it doesn't go in like that! You fucking stop torturing me now!"

"Shhh, Rina." Spain assured her. "Don't worry, boss knows what he's doing."

"You asshole. You're supposed to take it out, not shove the damn thing inside of me!"

"Rina, Prussia's told me about this."

"That potato bastard? Are you fucking kidding me? It bloody hurts!"

"I can't help it, Rina. It's pretty tight in there."

"Shut your mouth, bastard! I wish you'd die in a sea of potatoes, with that potato bastard!"

"Well, I'd rather die in your arms."

"Take it out, quickly!"

"It has to be slow or you'll get hurt!"

"I'm hurt now! Just get over with it!"

"Hey, don't move! It's not my fault that I know how to remove the splinter while you don't."

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	7. Yes

**Yes.**

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Is there anything interesting about you, darling? - _No._

Brown hair - _expected._

5'5 - _average._

Hazel eyes - _whatever._

A country - _of course._

Stand in the shadow of your sister? - _Don't need to ask._

Is the anything about you that stands out? A light in your eyes, a smile on your face, anything that defies the norm? (Your eyes are as dark as storm and your face always wears a scowl and your footsteps aren't light.)

Ugly. Boring. Bad tempered. Bad mouthed. Disgusting. Freak.

No one likes you, girl.

What's wrong with you? _Everything._

Haven't got any friend? - _No._

The last time you had fun? - _Can't remember._

Is there anything special about you? - _Yes. _

_Him._

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**A/n: Because I can't see Romano (female or male) with anyone other than Spain.**

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**Give my review button a hug.**


	8. Wrong

**Wrong **

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Fritz is ten when he thinks he might like his nation more than a friend. Well, he likes her a lot. But it's a little too much for a ten year old boy to handle, and she's always been a \brother\ to him. But he isn't going into that matter, because he's the heir, the Prince and he will be the King.

By the time Fritz is twenty-one, he realizes he doesn't like her. He loves her. But there's something between them after Katte's death, and he watches her go harsh on herself more than he'd seen her in his childhood. Her behavior towards him has changed and their friendship has become more distant with her never calling his name again - he doesn't blame her for this. So, Fritz settles himself for a painful (but hopefully, short) unrequited love.

"That's not going to work out, your Majesty." She tells him the day before he accedes to the throne.

"What do you mean?" He asks, not lifting his eyes off the book.

"Loving me."

"You're my nation, of course I love you."

"It's not what I'm talking about, your Majesty."

Of course she'll know that. She's lived for many years. But he's still stubborn.

"So what's wrong with it, anyway?"

"Everything." She says with a too expressionless face and too blank eyes.

"Yes, everything." He nods, he's come to that conclusion for a long time. "However, do allow me to be your King, I'll lead you to the way to greatest." She doesn't reply. "You're dismissed."

She bows her head before leaving. The door is shut firmly before her footsteps fading.

Everything is wrong, indeed.

* * *

**A/n: just found it in the computer and thought I'd post. It defied canon and history in, like, millions way.**

**I've committed a crime.**


	9. Right

**Right.**

* * *

He sat at the window that night, with moonlight in his hair, with his hair looking far away to the distance and said:

"Everything is wrong."

No reply came to her. Because there was no right and no wrong in her world, just strong and weak. The strong were always right and the weaker were wrong. She'd given up in right, had lost hope and had forgotten justice.

(A sword slice into Katte's neck and all Julchen could see was blood. She'd never been scared of blood, but the nightmare haunted her for months)

"You're dismissed."

She heard him say.

They were in silence, she in shadow and he in moonlight. And she bowed her head and walked away.

She shut the door so firmly that she surprised herself. She would have laughed for the unawesomeness of it all, but, but... Prussia shut her eyes and walked away.

It was over, she thought as she was alone in the corridor (since when this place had been that empty?).

All this for immortality.

"I'll lead you to the way to greatest."

He'd said. Prussia would become the strongest. She'd be the strongest.

She looked at the sword hung around her hips and thought, maybe it was right.

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**A/n: sort of connected to the previous chapter. Thanks for all fav, follow and reviews. **


	10. Storm

**Storms.**

* * *

"What're you doing out here?" He found her standing in the untamed wilderness of the garden, barefoot and without her jacket. Grass curled around her foot, winding and twisting freely, following the angles of her legs make to her foot.

She was looking intently at the sky. It was dark, filled with grey-purple clouds. The star was nowhere to be seen, the moon a mere sliver - a slice in the fabric of the night.

"A storm is coming." Fritz said again. Looking at her like that made him uneasy. It was like she'd disappear within blink, follow the wind and out of his reach. And who was him to defy them? "You should come inside. You'll get wet."

Thunder shook the sky and lightning burst through the clouds and she didn't move. The thunder sounded again and large drops of rain began to fall, clinging to Julchen's pale skin, getting lost in the white tangles of her hair. The rain ran down her face like tears, but there was nothing for her to right about, wasn't it? As long as he could remember, she had been there, Prussia, invincible.

Indeed, she was smiling.

"I want to stay out here." She told him, pushing her hair. "I want to watch." She laughed at his disbelieving look. "I'm not lying, I love storms. They're awesome. Really." She insisted, because he was still giving her that look. "They bring destruction. Devastation. Everything falls apart. It's a rule of life. The world cracks a little during storms. That's life. And I like it." She grinned, head thrown back making hair fall and eyes full of light that he'd never seen before.

She'd never looked more shining and beautiful to him.

"Right." He said. "Let's watch the world fall apart."

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**A/n: someone pm me about fem!prussia/fritz and that's what i think. Please review. **


	11. overprotective brother

**Disclaimer: I? Own Hetalia? ****_The _****Hetalia Axis Power?** Too funny to laugh.

**Couple doings.**

**A/n: My first attempt at all-dialogue.**

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"I don't understand your brother."

"Which brother are you talking about?"

"China. Perhaps he's too old for me to understand. It's not like I want to actually understand him, but he's been acting weirdly around me lately."

"Do tell me."

"He glares at me everytime we meet."

"I don't think so. You two are friends, right?"

"..."

"..."

"I think he hates me now."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"You're doing a great job in assuring me."

"I figured that much. Therefore, I'd be lying if I said he likes you now."

"For what? It's not like I want to know his opinion of me or anything, but I feel uneasy when someone hates me for nothing... Don't tell me he's been sending me those glares because I'm dating you, his sister?"

"I figured that much."

"..."

"..."

"He hates me for dating his sister. No way."

"He doesn't acknowledge your existence, nor does he want to be within ten metres of you."

"Is that what people call over protective brother?"

"Well, better China than Hong Kong."

"Fuck it."

"Language, Arthur-san."

"I don't give a damn. Okay, I'll have him eating out of my hands! Once I'm done with China, no brother of yours can interrupt our dates."

"Please, do as you wish."

"Your face suggests the opposite."

"Really?"

"Yes, you sound amused."

"I don't know that."

"Just give me an hour."

"I'll wait for you."

"I thought I was going to die. He's really an annoying old man. An old beast."

"You did your best."

"Your brother is a beast. You found the whole thing amusing, didn't you?"

"Arthur-san knows me so well."


	12. Thinking (like a girl)

**Thinking**

**(like a girl)**

* * *

My name is Arthur Kirland, the personification of England, or you can call me the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Iceland, whatever you prefer, and I'm going to die today. Why, you ask? Oh, silly me, I am the _Great Britain - _ of course the queen would want to know why I'm going to die and everyone would wonder why a country disappears on the map.

The thing is, you see, in the world conference yesterday, I sort of accidentally set Seychelles's clothes on fire. It's America's fault, really. He's got on my nerves. I repeat, accidentally. Do you read Harry Potter? The books mention 'accidental magic', don't they? The kind of magic that you do when you lose your temper? Yes, that's it. Anyway, I set her dress on fire, which left her nothing but her lingerie - in the name of Queen Elizabeth, I didn't see anything! The frog looked like Christmas had come earlier. Norway quickly fixed it to her - the guy was useful - and Seychelles decided to set to beating me to a pulp. Fortunately, I escaped, which explains why I'm hiding in a bush and hopes she won't come this way. I swear she looked like a dragon stabbed in the eyes, she was so angry.

Correction, she looked murderous.

You know, maybe I can cook something to give her, to compensate? That's what a gentleman should do, isn't it?

I'm not thinking like a girl, for your information. I don't write diary as Prussia, you know. Therefore, I can't be thinking like a girl. It just doesn't happen.

Okay, I'll make it up to her. Cook something, give her flowers. What a great plan!

* * *

**That's ridiculous. Really. I'm not good at writing first person. **

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	13. Luck

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Power. **

**Super thanks for all reviews, fav+ and follow. You guys are (almost) as awesome as Prussia.**

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**Luck.**

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After the war with China, you weren't fool enough to believe you'd see this one wrapped in fireworks and wine (you'd never been lucky) - you see him again, thin frame and hollow cheeks and blazing eyes, half the name he was before and it's almost depressing except you'd expected it.

You don't smile or greet him, because when you've wanted to break free from someone for years (and oh how you resented him), even if you are free and no longer a child now, how can you take it back?

(Brother. You don't want to be his sister. You don't want to stay under his wings.

Oh, how great he used to be.)

You just can't. You know this and he knows this, and even so you almost want to try.

(Stand by his side.)

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**A/n: Argh! I'm sorry. I just can't make a happy ending for those two. My dumb headcanon said that it was one-sided affection from Vietnam, but I also want China to love her more than a sister. I'm doomed.**

**Ah, about request. No promise that I can do all, but just give me the pairing and I'll try. **


	14. Sorry

**Sorry**

* * *

The first time you speak to him (after many wars and hundred years and back again, after cowardice and blank expressions), is like putting nails out of a coffin, like digging up ghost and dressing them in flesh again.

"I'm sorry." It's the first words coming out of your mouth, and he doesn't have to ask why.

(Of course he doesn't ask. Even in your old times, he never questioned you.)

(Furthermore, there are a million reasons you're sure he always knows why.)

(-_ for hating you, for thinking you were the one to blame, for being with Austria and praying for your disappearance, for wanting you to die, for burning all of our memories, for forgetting what we used to be, for burying my love for you -)_

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**_A/n:_**** PrusHun needs more love. **


	15. English Christmas tree

**English Christmas tree.**

* * *

"Kiku," Arthur's voice is surprisingly calm. "I think you've been upset with me."

"Oh?" The Japanese girl stops her humming (humming, a sign of his doom), sounding surprised. "What gives you the idea, Arthur-san?" She isn't looking at him, but fiddling with the tinsel with a frown.

"Call it experience, or ex-pirate's instuition." He replies, squirming a bit uncomfortably. "But I think you're overdoing it." She glances at him. "Just a bit." He adds.

"No, I don't think so." Kiku's smiling. "I think it's perfectly acceptable. Splendid, to be honest." She finishes with the thin, golden trips of tinsel, and starts looking for things in the box again. Decorating Christmas tree is a hard job, but it's worth in the end. She looks so excited that he doesn't want to spoil her fun.

But she's really overdoing this.

"Please, Kiku, just let me go." Arthur says patiently, trying and failing to move his arms. They remain trapped by his side, and he wonders if it's one of her Ninja tricks – or it's what she calls it is.

"Not until I take pictures." Kiku answers him with an equal patience, hanging an ornament on his head.

And with that, she puts the golden star on top of Arthur-tree (she calls him 'an English Christmas tree') and plugs everything in before taking a close look to her handiwork.

"You look good, Arthur-san."

"Please hurry up." Arthur isn't amused.

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**I WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS!**


	16. keep up with you

**a/n: **I'm not really fond of this one, therefore I apologize in advance. (though it's my longest chapter ever)

for my lovely reviewer: **Yugioatemlover.** I have no idea if you like Nyo!Sweden, but I like her, a lot.

**disclaimer: **i never own them, no matter what voices tell you

* * *

She's like a whirling tornado. She's all brightbright blue eyes and secret smiles and small laughter and long blond hair and she's a masterpiece of living, of strength, and she glows brighter than the stars with flower in hair and sword in hands.

He's always loved her, he thinks. Since before he can remember, when they were young and she and he and Denmark and Norway and Iceland used to fight side by side, faces lightened with joy when defeating their enemies. And now they're older and she blazes while he sticks around in the background, trying to work out where he figures in the world of a girl who believes in no one but herself.

Sometimes, she has the moment of breakdown, like a lioness gets tired after a long hunt, but it takes her only a few minutes to pick herself up, and he's always the one that's there with her and he revels in being the one who she comes to and falls asleep next to and contemplates thoughtfully through those blue eyes, so beautiful with their framing of glasses and thick eyelashes. And when she's fixed and back to fighting with all her body and will again, he fades away and she lives too fast for him. He's forced to follow as she sows beautiful destruction, head held high and steps on her fallen comrades and opponents. She acts as if she's oblivious to all of this, but he always knows better.

He tries to slow her down and patch her up around the edges, because she's being caught in a spiral of self-destruction and she acts as though she's blind to this, while she's not and he's not and it breaks his heart. It's kind of ironic, really, because he's the weaker one and she's the one to always step ahead. She breaks down one day and he knew it was going to happen because she is tired with those purple bags under her eyes and her already-pale-but-somehow-got-paler skin, she is tired with Denmark's being overbearing and she walks away without even looking back. He chooses to follow her, because she is strikingly beautiful when she points her sword at Denmark's throat and he hears the call of freedom in her radiance.

He's at her side in mere moments and accompanies her to their new hiding place, a cave hidden in the forest with leaves on the front to let the evening sunshine stream it. She doesn't say a word, just sits still in one position with her back leaning against the stone, gazing out at the sharp line of horizon. He goes to stand behind her, his weight against her in a way that he knows it will calm her down a bit, his face pressed into her shoulder as she sighs softly and lets him caress her hair as it streams down loosely around her.

They stay like this until the sky darkens and the world turns into a mixture of darkness and sparkling lights of star above, in a world they believes that there're Gods and Goddesses watching over them. He goes to and comes back from hunting and says nothing, giving her roasted meat and forces it on her – she can still fight without eating, but she's too thin to skip meals, and she reluctantly gives in to him and falls asleep, her body curled up against his. But she just closes her eyes – there is no evenness in her breathing, her body still stiff and her hand holding the sword a little tightly.

He murmurs some old song to her ears and it's such a relief when she slowly relaxes and her breathing becomes softer and softer. Blue eyes look at him with gratitude and she gives him a smile which says 'Thanks'. Naturally, he smiles back, his lips in her hair and his heart in her keeping.

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**a/n: thank for all fav+ and follow, but I'd be much happier if you review. **


	17. all in name

**disclaimer: **My nationality isn't Japanese, and it says all.

**notes: **they're my otp and you must know.

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**All in name.**

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There is a time that you don't know the difference between up and down (freedome or family), right and wrong (Prussia or England), left and right (your freedom and the cost, for you know you lost England.) You don't know how long that period lasts, because hundred years seem like within a blink and before you know it, she catches your eyes. Dark brown and golden honey, all the warm color. And I should have stopped here (it didn't)

France tells you that her name is Vietnam - Liên - which means lotus in your language. Lotus, flower pretty and hard and elegant, and you should have known where it would end, poison and things unfit for garden, but you are young and always sleeps when England tells you about gardening - the smell of earth and air overwhelmed.

She smells ever so vague of it, and you tells her this when you're scattering your kisses into her hair.

She rolls her eyes and she's all you can think about, except -

\- it's just a summer fling, and it's the most fragile thing in the world and one day she stands up against you and tells you ('_Freedom. Indepence. And you can never give that.") _

_(And that means. "I can't go on loving you.")_

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**A/n: Ah, AmeViet. The reason for all things. I'd be so touched if you review. **


	18. Vampire

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia: Axis Power.

Super thanks for all reviews, fav+ and follow. You guys are awesome, Prussian awesome.

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**Vampire.**

* * *

"You're the worst slayer that I've unfortunately met."

He's really pretty vampire. The prettiest I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot of vampires. And vampires are always pretty.

(Prettiness aside, they all kinda want to kill me. They're pretty, but the way they kill is not.)

I try to look angry at him but, come on!

What self-respecting vampire walks around with his shirt not done up?!

And what self-respecting female won't acknowledge a partially open shirt on an attractive young man, or at least he looks like a young man with fang.

Seriously! This guy is too attractive that it's illegal (with his strawberry blond hair and mesmerizing red eyes and snow white skin) don't get me wrong, I'm merely appreciating a beauty, not a vampire.

How can he criticize me when he…

He -

That old man in a brat's skin -

"You are easily distracted."

HIS SHIRT IS OPEN!

"And you are a pervert."

I take offense, you know, so I glare at the prat of a vampire with all I've got.

I'm not a pervert.

I'm merely appreciating the beauty he has.

And it's his fault for leaving his shirt open.

"You prat, listen!" I grit my teeth, stomping over to where he stands smirking at me and wave my stake threateningly. "Y- You might have done with your puberty since you're like, I don't know, five hundred years old man, but I'm still sixteen and therefore I'm allowed to stare shamelessly at very pretty guys, even if those pretty guys are old men in disguise, got it?"

I hope he understands, or his living five hundred years will be a total waste.

Oh no, tell me I didn't tell him he's pretty to his face!

"Like, what self-respecting vampire walks around with his shirt not done up?!"

There, I said it. Good job, girl, good freaking job.

He looks down on me (I detest his height)

"Well, what self-respecting slayer wears flower in their hair? Show off."

You can hear the shock in my voice.

I'm going to stake him –

"Don't you dare voice your opinion!" I growl, now really fighting (and failing. Oh god, Gilbert – that annoying prick – is never gonna let me the end of this…) him. Damn, he must be the fastest one I've ever faced. "So what's it if I like flower?"

"Hn."

We fight.

I mean, we actually fight, not that crappy verbal fight we have just had. Like with punches and kicks and staking and the crazily illegally attractive vampire fang-lunging -)

Man, a tie.

… Or not.

I glare at him when I find myself pinned against the brick wall of the alley we're fighting against. He literally crushes me there with my arms twisted painfully, and my cheeks hurt. He pushes my hair away (remind yourself: wash your hair later, one hour would be a reasonable length of time), and I can feel his breathing even though he doesn't have to.

How dare he use up my oxygen?

He holds me there for a few minutes.

(I know it, vampires like to watch slayers suffer, the prettier one vampire is, the more sadist.

Jerk.)

"You can kill me, I'm not telling anything."

I can hear him smirk as he presses his lips against my neck.

Oh, shit.

He's licking my skin.

Double fucking shit.

He's dragging his fangs across my neck.

Bloody hell.

He scratches me lightly.

I bit my lips to prevent myself from saying anything stupid.

That fucking vampire!

He should be killing me, not molesting me!

I'll kill him if he doesn't kill me.

The vampire is such an idiot, even Gilbert is cleverer than him. No self-respecting vampire should let someone as infamous to his kind like me (the Slayer) alive for ten seconds after capturing them.

"You…" I mutter.

I'm ready to be killed, though.

"You are the worst vampire I've unfortunately fought."

My cheeks hurt.

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**note to self: **Please control your fingers.

**Please review.**


	19. do you think so

**disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia: Axis Power and its characters.

This is for the sake of humour.

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"Kiku, I think Alice likes you."

Kiku Honda almost chokes on his sushi before whirling his face around to look at Alfred and feels his cheeks warmer: "Excuse me?"

"I said," Alfred grins, and it's too bright for Kiku's comfort. "I think Alice likes you, mate."

Kiku takes a moment to take in the information, "Do you think so?" He doesn't think someone likes Alice Kirkland will let her emotions show that obvious. Besides, Alfred isn't definitely the most observant person... Is he?

"Do you think so?" Kiku asks slowly.

"Didn't I just say that?" Alfred rolls his eyes.

"And you're not going to kill me?" Kiku can't believe he's having this conversation with Alice's (most) protective brother.

"Of course not." Alfred shrugs. "Alice is Alice. She likes almost everyone who can put up with her, even if she denies it. As long as you don't like her back -"

Kiku finishes his sushi.

Alfred's eyes widens.

Kiku displays his ninja ability and disappears.

* * *

**a/n: **I love Japan and England so much that it isn't funny anymore.

Please review.


	20. Brother

**disclaimer: **your confusion on this point makes me wonder about you.

**a/n: **there is overprotective China, and some hints of AmeViet and England/Japan if you squint.

* * *

"Okay, okay. Let me get this straight," China says slowly, with a too delighted expression and too bright smile. No sane person believes it, though, and Iceland is sure that he's the sanest one of the Nordics, so he notices the coldness beneath China's smiling eyes, the way the old nation's hands are twitching, like an old man who is going to witness his daughter's wedding. "You-are-in-love-with-my-sister-Hong-Kong?"

Iceland's every thought stops. He's scared for his life now. China's tone sounds downright murderous. Even Hong Kong nudging him is no help, and that's saying something.

"Yes, China, I mean, yes, sir."

The older nation acknowledges this information, eyes darting to the wok on his counter, _I have good speed and throwing arm, _he thinks as he watches Iceland and Hong Kong, _no, Hong Kong can kick the wok back with a swift movement, I shouldn't have taught her kungfu when she was a kid, _"You do realize that you live too far from each other, Iceland?"

Hong Kong coughs and glares at China, "Distance is no problem! Besides, I'm old enough."

"Too young."

"For you, yeah, because you've been living since forever, but you aren't the boss of me. We won't care."

"I care…" Iceland says weakly. She flashes him a cold look, which is too similar to China's own that scares him a bit.

"Please be quiet." She says, touches his arm lightly to reassure him.

China's eyes flash at the contact. _They touched! _He thinks, _MY LITTLE SISTER MAKES A SKIN CONTACT WITH A BOY! "_Prepare for –" He begins, but stops himself. He isn't supposed to lose control. Boss will be angry, prison doesn't worth it. Perhaps few years wouldn't be bad, he's lived long enough. No no, personification of People's Republic of China in prison is unacceptable. "You're too young" He repeats weakly, "Just a baby girl." He shoves some unpleasant thought about her being England's colony for too long to remain his baby little sister. "You're just a baby girl."

"I'm no longer a baby." Hong Kong sighs, inches over in front of her brother's desk. Iceland, noticing he'll be an open target for a wok-throwing movement, moves to the doorway, "I love you, brother, but I love Iceland, too. We love each other."

China sighs, first Vietnam to like America, second Japan to fall for England, and now Hong Kong and Iceland, his siblings and some Western men, it's too difficult to accept right away.

"Do I have to do it now?" China asks, Hong Kong answers him with a glare, "Okay, okay, you two have my blessing." He admits defeat before glaring at the wok (aka potential murder weapon) and sighing again.

"Thank you, big brother!" Hong Kong smiles (she's ignoring his uneasiness, he knows this) and turns to give Iceland a hug. "We'll see you at dinner. Iceland's sleeping over tonight." China's face turns horrified. "In the guest room."

Iceland watches Hong Kong leave before him, then turns to China with his most pleasant smile, "Thank you very much, Mr. China."

China huffs before turning away, in order to hide his maniac glinting eyes from Iceland. That boy had better not be a deep sleeper, or else!

* * *

**notes: **thanks for all reviews, fav+ and alert.

Please review!


	21. Mirror

**disclaimer: **only the headache, only the headache, my dear.

**dedicated to:** Zilan. Ah, lovely reviewers are lovely.

**notes: **i'm sorry in advance for being incapable of writing Nyo!China in all her glory: a girl whose emotions cannot be read easily. And look what I did. And sorry for the lack of romances. In my headcanon, China, no matter how grown up she is, she is rather slow when it comes to romance, because she's too devoted to raising young nations to think of her own self. In short, she easily mistakes romantic love for siblings love and always sees Russia as a child until - well, enough said. And Russia, being Russia, is surprisingly gentle when it comes to China, because he knows she cares.

You can think that headcanon as an excuse for the lack of romance in this chapter.

* * *

She isn't surprised when he comes with a banquet of sunflowers, all smiling brightly and innocently and asks for a game of Xiangqi. It's a routine, to be honest. He comes to her house, takes the seat and she makes tea and questions about his sanity. But China isn't the type to refuse a challenge and Russia has become rather decent at the game.

Most importantly, she has nothing better to do, neither does Russia.

She knows why he comes to her house and she can see that he almost doesn't want to go back to his place - now even emptier after the dissolution of Soviet Unions. She guesses that why she doesn't throw knives at him and demands that he get out of her house, because he reminds her too much of herself at the time when she was like that.

There are some differences between betrayal and leaving. But the consequences are the same, it makes the one behind angry and lonely and have to hold onto memories like the edge of the cliff of life and not sure if they ever want to claw their way out of this. The results are smiles that never reach eyes and too blank face with a wall which no one can break. She can't stop him or discipline him for remaining that way, she's got no proof that he's lonely and lost and he denies it everytime (when you live for too long, you must have perfected your lying skill) Looking at him is like looking at herself and it's like some sort of mirror that she doesn't want to hold up. But he is going to heal eventually, just like she is because they're nations and politics is what they do. He'll continue to see people have left him and greet them with a smile, just like she welcomes her younger siblings with open arms even though they hurt her.

"You're staring at me." Way to run the mood, Russia. "Do you like me that much?" He asks as he prepares the chess board.

"Here is your tea." She says, because telling him otherwise will only lead to her headache. "Didn't I tell you not to bring them?" She glances at the sunflowers.

"My place doesn't have peonies." He smiles pleasantly. "Besides, I think I'll only give you peonies when I defeat you at Xiangqi."

"You wish." She replies. "Practice one more hundred years and you still can't."

"I don't think it'll take one hundred years. I have nothing to do recently."

"Recently is the key word. You will have something to worry about very soon."

"Hopefully. Can we play now, da? I've thought of a new move to show you."

China knows he needs to keep himself from insanity, and as much as he annoys her, she won't take it from him. It's one difference, she thinks, she had no one and he has her, and if she's strong enough to get over it on her own, he'll survive with her by his side. Maybe he's attacking the source of his problem to get there, and it's something to see.

"It'd better be good, youngster."

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**notes: **please reviews. I'll bake you cookies.

*xiangqi: is one type of Chinese chess. It is in the same family as shogi, janggi and chess.


	22. Ruining

**disclaimer: **supposed the characters and the anime were mine, it'd be a quick failure. And I'm not keen on failure, so I won't bother anymore.

**notes: **Russia is my baby, I swear I had no intention of making him bad or anything. Really! It's just... argh!

* * *

He watches her slowly ruining her (never) enjoyable life.

(He enjoys every moment of it)

Amazing Prussia Julchen Beilschmidt, who manages to survive even though her country was dissolved. Beautiful and strong and confident Prussia.

(She's special)

She flirts and teases and laughs at all as she wears her arrogant attitude to match with the smirks and smiles she has, all maybe a little too bright.

(There's too much light in her smiles)

Russia knows, he always knows.

He knows that she wakes up sweating from her nightmares at night and tries to act normal in front of her brother, he knows she forgets things about the past more than often and has to hurry to read about them in history books or her diaries. He knows the bottles of beer she drinks and throws out before her brother is back.

He knows it's only a matter of time for everyone to know what a mess Prussia is, and he'd like to see how they try to prevent her disappearance, to fix her.

(She doesn't need fixing.)

Russia knows.

And he can't wait.

* * *

**Notes: **I lied. I couldn't give you cookies. But still, I wish you would drop reviews. It'll make my day.


	23. Gone

**disclaimer: **neither darling is mine. Just my computer. And my computer can be considered a darling, too.

**a/n: **PruHun. PruHun. Finally. PruHun. Because of some nasty illness, I couldn't publish for two days and it suck.

**Thanks for all reviews, fav+ and alert. 3 **

* * *

She opens one of his dairies, hating how her fingers are shaking and how her knees are buckling.

She reads the last page for several times, and throws it aside before burying her head between her knees.

She hates it when her whole body is trembling, because she almost hears him laughing at her.

"Hello, Elly", he says, a bit hesitantly and she wants to punch him because she's nearly over him now. (Nearly being the key word.)

"You're gone." She whispers, since it's the only way she can keep her voice even. She'll definitely cry if he is just one of her fantasies or one of her dreams. (Please don't. Please don't. He'll laugh at her for how pathetic it sounds.)

"I'm too awesome to be gone. So, I'm back!" He exclaims. "I think you'd be happy…"

"Happy?" She's lost control. "You're supposed to be gone! You're meant to be gone and never come back!"

The world is in blur as she gives up on standing, and she really really hates herself. Why does he not leave? He's supposed to go, leave her and his brother and his friends behind. He isn't supposed to come back to them, to give them hope that he'll stay forever – to give her a false belief.

But he's that blasted Prussia, the stubborn Gilbert, he is never the one to expect her to cry, never the one to leave her when she's like that. He steps forward.

She steps backward.

His arms reach out.

She takes another step backward.

He reaches and hugs her, and keeps his grasp so firmly that she can't struggle.

"You're meant to disappear." Her voice is shaking and hoarse. It isn't supposed to be like that. Maybe she is supposed to throw her frying pan to his head and punch him so hard because how dare he leave her behind and just disappear. Maybe she is supposed to yank his collar and kiss him and pretend that those years didn't matter but they did and she just can't.

(But it doesn't explain why she's hugging him back as if her life depended on it.)

* * *

**a/n: **Reviews are always encouraged. (giving me one pairing is also good.)


	24. Night

**disclaimer: **i think you can discover what is mine on your own. Right? Right.

**a/n:** I'm in the mood for nyo!Sweden, so I decided to give it a try. Well, I'm in the mood for Nordic, but I choose Sweden, that's all. Sorry for the length!

**Thanks for all reviews, fav+ and alert. **

* * *

Nights are always the hardest time.

In the silence between going to sleep and going crazy, she clutches her swords and watches as the dark creep along the wall and prepares herself in case of emergency; her heartbeats echo clearly to her eyes with the rise and fall of her companion's chest as he's probably dreams of some wonderful things that are likely to happen to her as she is to give herself peaceful sleep – something that will never happens in these darks day.

("It'll end soon." Of course he'll say. "And you, we, can relax. There are always chances to get it right." Sweden looks at him and says nothing, because if she does, his words will become her salvation.)

There was once upon a time that she remembered winter nights and warm fire and they were smiling together, and wishes appeared in her minds. Wishing is never enough, and she knows it now, because it didn't prevent them from falling apart, it didn't keep her and Denmark from pointing weapons at each other's throat and got themselves and their dear ones into misery.

Finland is supposed to be always happy and smiling, not running and hiding and fighting with her, not being covered in blood. He's always meant to be as bright as the stars. (But now, even the brightest star cannot lighten the night.) Nightmares don't suit him, she decides.

So when he trembles in his sleep, she places her hands on his forehead and knows the warmth she needs is right here.

"Good night."

And for the first time in a long time, she almost lets herself believe.

* * *

**Notes: **Just discover that I've lost one fav+ and two followers of this story, but please review anyway. I can't bake you cookies, but still. (Suggesting pairing would be nice too, otherwise I'll continue with Nordic until I'm tired.)


	25. Give In

**disclaimer: **I'm not good at great many things, and drawing is one of them. I can't even draw, therefore, Hetalia doesn't and never belongs to me.

Thank Zilan for your suggestion!

Again, let me tell you my opinion this pairing. Himaruya says that Nyo!Poland is kind of a big-sister-like character, and I just let her make sure that Liet doesn't die of boredom because of doing too much paperwork. She wants to spend time with him, but Liet seems not to understand and that gets on her nerves.

Liet is no match to Poland, haha.

**Author Note: **Can you hear Poland say?

Poland: I, like, totally wants to spend a bit more time with him and he just does paperwork. How boring is that?

* * *

"Tell me more about your stories of your capital." Poland tells him and appears serious, which makes Lithuania stare at her weirdly. She's standing in the late afternoon sunshine blazing over her shoulder, straw blond hair now looks like fire around her face, especially when she chooses a flower crown made of red corn poppies.

"But you've heard it." He replies, somewhat puzzled.

"Doesn't matter, I wanna to hear it again. P-P-Please?" She adds as an afterthought, but the haughty air remains as if she was forced to do it, shifting to the side to block the sun (Lithuania is very thankful, because he has to shut one eye due to the sunshine.) and he can see all of her features now, (pretty) lips pursed in annoyance, (pretty) scowl on her face. He looks at her up and down, once, from where he's sitting near his desk.

"Can it be another time? I have paperwork." He says, and she replies by deepening the scowl and sends him green-eyed glare that can be as scary as Russia's smile.

"Liet." She says, voice steely and Lithuania is afraid that he isn't manly enough to fight against. "Tell me. Capital stories. Now."

"You've heard it already, too many times." Her glare intensifies, Lithuania is surprised that he's still sitting straight on the chair. But he isn't going to give in, he needs to work. (he repeats in his head: 'I'm not giving in, I'm not giving in, I'm not-") "You can't really thrust your sword into my neck..." A flash of wanting appears in her eyes, and he hastily adds. "You can't."

"Do I look like I care? I am, like, totally going to use force on you if I deem necessary."

He laughs nervously.

"No, Poland, violence isn't..."

She suddenly flops down next to him, burrowing into his side as her head falls on his shoulder, right hand drawing some weird pattern on the air. "Please." She repeats in a quieter, softer voice, and he sighs and places his pen aside, starting to collect the papers on the table.

"Fine." (he repeats in his head: 'I'm not giving in, I'm not giving in, I'm not-" and the trance breaks and he's doomed.) Poland squeals in delight and stands, hugging him and laughing as if the fate granted her greatest wish.

"We can go to the lake, Liet, it has a great sight that is really suitable for story-telling!"

She doesn't even leave him a chance to protest, but as Lithuania watches her walk away, humming and throws a smile over her shoulder at him, he decides that giving in is a good thing.

* * *

**A/n: **Lithuania and Poland, huh? You guys are, like, totally awesome. Not as awesome as Gilbert, though. Thank for reviews, fav+ and alert!

Reviews are always encouraged.

Give me a shot!


	26. Cards

**disclaimer: **i have a Tarot deck at home, but not Hetalia.

**a/n: **this is based on one of my dumb headcanon that Norway (male or female) is good at card magic. AND I SEE A FANART LIKE THAT! And Denmark can never understand.

At first I intend to write about a Pottertalia drabble for those two, but since I saw the fan art this morning, I have to write this. (But I think I'll update the Pottertalia drabble later.) I apologize for Denmark's OOCness in there (I overused the work awesome, but Denmark is one of THE AWESOME TRIO, right...?)

This is for you, **FallenAngelWings. **

**And again, I can never say enough thanks for the ones who support me with reviews, fav+ and alert. **

* * *

Let get this straight: he's Denmark, King of Scandinavia (okay, not anymore, because Norge will be pissed if he says that), he can drink wine as easily as drink water - in short, Denmark is awesome, really really awesome. Just ask America and Prussia and they'll tell you how awesome he is. As awesome as he is, Denmark has no idea what the heck Norge is talking about - don't tell her that, she'll hit him with trolls, and it's not unpleasant feeling.

He knows Norge has been always different from them. She can see what others can't, and she can do magic, which is really fantastic, and he's always had difficulty understanding her actions. But how the hell does she expect him to understand those tarot cards?

(Perhaps he should go asking her magic buddies, England and Romania, later.)

"It's not that difficult." She insists, after forcing him to sit still in the chair and threatening to sold his axe to the museum. "This card is called Magician -"

"He doesn't look like a Magician to me", He interrupts, and Norge stares at him with disturbingly blank eyes, which usually means she's plotting to teach him a lesson. But he isn't going to lose. "Really, Norge, he looks like -"

"Anko is so annoying."

She's calling him her brother again?

"Norge -"

"Anko has never paid enough attention when I ask him to. Wonder why I'm still spending time with him."

Wait, what?

"Hey, Norge -"

"Anko is hopeless."

"With those cards." He corrects her, and before she opens her mouth to remind him of what those cards are called, he stands up, "But not with this."

And then Denmark leans across the table and claims her lips into a kiss, ha, Tarot cards, go to hell, they can never be as awesome as him.

* * *

**A/n: **Please review!


	27. Muddy

**disclaimer: **Norway would send trolls after me if I said I did, wouldn't he?

**Notes: **Finally, family bonding. Iceland, you precious boy.

Super thank to reviews, fav and alert.

* * *

Iceland growls (no, he doesn't shriek) and Mr. Puffin made some incomprehensive sound as Denmark pushes them, his laughter ringing annoyingly in the boy's ears. Iceland slides and slides and slides down the after rain quarry – you know what it's like, all dirty and slippery and muddy and damn it, his boots are white, so fucking white, and now look at them. There's nothing to grip, either, and Iceland sort of envies Mr Puffin for being able to fly as he gets carried forward by the momentum of his fall and it fucking hurts.

"Denmark, you bastard -" He yells, glaring at his self-proclaimed brother as the Dane stands at the top, still laughing. "I'll get you back!" With that being said, Iceland prepares to make his way up.

Denmark doesn't stop laughing until something pushes him forward, sending him flying down and landing not so lightly on the mud at the bottom. Luckily, Iceland has dodged in time to save himself from a crash. Norway stands at the very top, face expressionless as ever, and Iceland bursts out laughter at the sight of Denmark's face covered with leaves and mud.

"Anko is annoying." Norway says.

"Norge, how can you -" Denmark is splutter leaves in his mouth.

"It wasn't me. The troll did."

Denmark lets out a string of incoherent words before pulls himself on his feet. "Just you wait -"

AndIceland watches as Denmark goes to whereNorway's standing, only to be shoved again.

* * *

**A/n: **Give me my review button a hug. Suggestions are always welcome.


	28. Eight Rules To Date My Baby Sister

**disclaimer: **we've been over it before.

**author note: **Just an attempt at humour, and I'm not sure about this. Writing angsty seems to easier to me.

**Thanks for all reviews, alert and fav+.**

* * *

Switzerland: Eight Rules To Date My Baby Sister, Which I Demand You To Take Seriously Without Objections.

Rule One: Do not touch my sister. You can glance and look at her, of course, because she's a beauty that should always be appreciated, as long as you don't peer at anything below her neck. If you look at my sister in a wrong way or leave your hands on my sister's body, I will remove them with guns. The sight will not be pretty. You've been warned.

Rule Two: There is a list of places that is not suitable for a date with my sister, and I need you to remember: Places there are beds, sofas, and even desks. Places there are no policemen, no siblings within sight. Dark places are also out of question. Places where there is hugging, cuddling, or even holding hands. Places where the temperature is warm so that my sister has to wear shorts and tank tops, or anything other than coat and shirt that go up to her throat. And do not watch movies in the theatre, well, I'll go easy with action films. And I have a lot of movies at home for you to watch.

Rule Three: Do not lie to me. At the first sight, you may think I'm a harmless looking guy, with thin arms and thin legs. But when it comes to my little sister, I know everything and can be very merciless. I live long enough to know what is the truth. Therefore, you will tell me the truth, the whole truth about where you're going with my sister. I repeat, it's no point in lying to me.

Rule Four: I don't think you and I should talk. The only information I require that the indication of when you escort my sister safely back at my home, and the only word I need is 'early'. Remember carefully, Liechtenstein has a precise time that I expect her to be home safely. If she doesn't, I won't be able to sleep, the result will not be pleasant.

Rule Fifth: I'm sure all of us know about a bunch of thing like 'when two people love each other so much they'll have sex.' But that sexual intercourse activity can be deadly without proper protection. Let me get this straight, I'm her protection, and I will cease your existence. When a woman says "No", it usually means "No!", but when my little says "No", it always means, "Stop what you're doing immediately or my brother will know about it and when you're alone, he'll be right behind you with his guns and you two can have a friendly chat."

Rule Sixth: When you're going out with my sister, you will continue to date her and only her until she is finished with you. If you make her sad, I will make you regret being born.

Rule Seventh: When we first meet, please don't not feel uncomfortable when I am staring at you. Unless you endure that, you're no worthy to my sister. I just want to remember you clearly when I come to you. We both don't want the innocent to be harm.

Rule Eighth: I've decided. Don't even think of dating my sister.

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**notes: **That is it. I'm so done. Giving suggestions and pairings is always encouraged.

Review, please.


	29. Keep on

**disclaimer: **The last time I checked, I still couldn't draw.

Super thanks for all reviews, fav+ and alert.

credit goes to my sister for giving me this pair in the middle of lunch. You can see it either as romance or family. It's up to you.

* * *

He's the only person in this crazy world that you can really show your weakness and depend on. He's the one who'll hold you close when you're being unawesome and shaking and trembling and crying, burnt out with nothing left, ripped off from your power. It's somehow laughable, really, because he's your younger brother and he's meant to rely on you, but now you're not doing a good job as a big sister, aren't you? You're totally dependable on him, always expect him to catch your arms and prevent you from falling.

You just keep going like a soldier you are, as fast as you can, because it's what you've been teaching him. Don't stop, keep on walking and almost leaving everything and everyone behind.

* * *

He's there when you're finally finally tired and bruised, and there's nothing to keep you going anymore. He's there to hold you when you suffer from insomnia each night, feeling sorrow and lonely and empty.

Maybe you still can run as fast as you can, but he'll always stand by your side and go through everything with you until the very end.

He's grown up to be a soldier (a country, a nation) like you've expected, and as utterly unawesome as it sounds, you hope he'll never leave you behind.

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**Notes: Reviews are love. **


	30. Possessive

**disclaimer:** I know the series isn't mind, regardless of my bad memory.

Thank** Forest of Snowflake Blossoms** for giving me prompt, and to be honest, I'd never thought of this pairing until now. I wish I could continue with them.

Anyway, Nyo!Norway knows exactly what she's doing, but Iceland isn't so sure about his feeling. (It's kind of romance, right? Because I do not portray them just as sister and brother.)

Thank you for all your support.

* * *

**Iceland/Nyo!Norway: Possesive**

_"Sometimes we get too possessive with someone we don't even own. It's a side effect of loving too much, and receiving too little." _-Unknown

* * *

At first, it kinds of scares him a bit, because Norway is never the touchy-freely kind of girl and it'd become a lie if he said he didn't freak out when she randomly hugs him around the waist or touches his cheeks (and god, it's so embarrassing but her face remains so expressionless – except for the spark in her eyes, which scares him too.) She's his sister, therefore it's definitely allowed, but this much? Iceland knows some people send weird looks at him when they're holding hands (she's practically dragging him with a super strength that he thinks only America can have, and her hands are shockingly warm.) Of course, when he voices his opinion, she merely raises her eyebrows and says as if a guy with a parrot constantly around isn't weird enough.

It's still embarrassing, because it's not just weird looks they receive, because sometimes he can feel jealousy and happiness. And Iceland isn't good at dealing with emotions, especially a girl's ones. That's why he decides not to defy Norway and let her do whatever she wants, because she's his sister and she has every right and he kind of wants it, too.

(This much?)

Sometimes she has the feeling that Norway wants to make people feel their happiness, whether they like it or not. She can be really inconsiderate at times, wants to show off that Iceland is hers. (ah, her brother, remember?). She's utterly stubborn and scary when it comes to this, and maybe, it's what Iceland loves the most about her. It makes him feel belonged to someone, some place, even at a party when he's talking to someone, Norway will come over and pat his head and caress his cheek and a really nice smile that says 'back off'. When he manages to have her walk away, he has to come up with a reason that she just loves her family, then everyone will say it's nice to have a sister that treasure you so much.(She certainly doesn't love Denmark or Sweden or Finland that way, does she?)

And Iceland will later tell her not to do it anymore, but they both know he doesn't mean it.

* * *

**Notes: **Reviews always make my day!

The next chapter is probably long, since I've been working on the idea of Japan/Nyo!England and if I lost control it wouldn't be a surprise. I'll try to finish the whole thing tomorrow, when my inspiration is still full.


	31. Cookery

**disclaimer:** Nothing is mine, except for the turkey hen. The turkey hand and I are good friends.

Thank** Forest of Snowflake Blossoms** for giving me prompt (and a chance to play with the AU, haha). It's Japan/Nyo!England: How to cook.

**Word count: 2030. **

**THE LONGEST EVER! Which means there will be more grammar errors (and probably spellings, but I hope not.) And I do apologize for Kiku's OOCness. **

In which Nyo!England actually knows that her food (scones) taste bad.

**Q: **But it's a drabble collection and it's too long. How can you post it here while normally the story with over 1000 words is posted separatedly.

**A: **Because I can't think off an impressive enough title and summary.

* * *

**KikuAlice**

\you filled my world green and turned it into a wonderland\

* * *

The cookery centre is located in a narrow alley, which has obviously never been paid attention to. Alice doesn't know why someone bothers to open a class there at the first place, but she isn't able to judge, is she? She's come a long way to here (5 kilometres, to be exact) and she refuses to waste her energy. Something must be done. (She blames Amelia, really, "the fee is low and the teacher is described good-looking and well-mannered", ha!). Anyway, according to Amelia, when girls need to learn to cook well, there must be some kind of motivation.

Motivation is slightly taller than her (Is that average height for an Asian?), and rather good-looking with black hair and dark eyes. But if you say he's qualified as polite, Alice will definitely give you a good kick.

The first day, everyone has to learn how to make appetizer, and Alice decides she'll choose salad, because it seems easy enough. But when she begins, the corner of her eyes twitches. Lettuce, cucumber, carrot… all of them give her headache. The teacher – Kiku Honda, why does she have the feeling that she's heard his name before? – glances at her shaking (because of annoyance) hands, which is chopping the vegetables. He frowns and looks at her for a good one minute before flashing a really nice smile and commenting. "It seems you have to wait for hundred years to get married."

Calm down, Alice, calm down, don't throw anything at him, he doesn't mean it, he's just being honest… She can endure this. She definitely doesn't know him, because Alice is pretty sure that she can never forget someone as rude as that.

After two hours of working hard, the results are: three broken dishes, five shattered cups, and a deep cut in her index finger. She ignores the quiet murmurs amongst the other girls.

"What a clumsy girl!"

"I bet she's never been in kitchen before."

"Has her mother not taught her?"

No, don't get angry, Alice, control your temper…

She registers to the class, and Kiku looks at her with an unreadable expression:

"Are you sure?"

"Didn't you hear that I have no mother to teach me?"

* * *

She refuses to give up, even though those lessons are starting to haunt her. And when she complains to Amelia, her friend just shrugs, "I've heard he's rather picky when it comes to cooking." Understatement of many centuries.

She's the only student who has to do extra work after class. Extra work means washing dishes that others have left after they're done. And Kiku always critizes her about 'the inability to distinguish salt and sugar'. After a bunch of that and that, he always comes up with the same: "It seems you have to wait for hundred years to get married." Of course, he still says that with a disturbingly gentle smile.

She doesn't reply. She won't let his words affect her.

* * *

She's never allowed to touch or prepare the main course. All she does is washing dishes and prepare ingredient, and Kiku doesn't bother to encourage her. Alice's perfectly fine that way, to be honest. After two months of learning, her skill hasn't been risen a bit. Sometimes, she tries to make simple breakfast at home for her brothers, Allison has freaked out, but Alex tries a bit and says 'Not bad', and Alice allows herself to relax. Of course Allison is still skeptical to try, but at the end of the day, he comes back from work and tells her, "Alice, make breakfast from now on, it keeps me from going late for work."

But she has a bigger joy. After an extremely hard test, she presents her soup to him.

"Average." He nods his head. Alice responds with a wide smile.

Few minutes later, as she has expected, his face starts to become really really green. Oh no, she's pretty sure that he isn't sick. When he hastily asks what she has added to the soup, she replies innocently. "Scones." Even Alex is scared of her scones.

_Payback, done._

She pretends not to be involved when he looks like he's about to faint.

She finds out from a girl later, that Kiku is allergic to scones. And Alice knows how bad hers are. (But honestly, who can live in England without eating scones? Everyone has to eat that at one point in their time in the country… right?) To make the matter worse, when Allison comes back from work that night, he tells her that one of his college friends is food-poisoning, and that aforementioned friend happens to have the name Kiku Honda.

That Japanese is Allison's friend, no wonder why she finds his name familiar, since once you're friend with Allison, you must have visited the Kirkland household at least one time.

Alice spends the whole night recalling any memories with him, but it's difficult. There is no friend of Allison's that impolite and annoying. Come to think of this, he's only impolite to her. She's thought it is because of her terrible cooking, but now, it might be for an entirely difficult reason.

Oh, think, Alice, think.

Emptiness. She can't remember.

Maybe that time, it wasn't important enough.

* * *

Due to the teacher's illness, the classes have to be postponed for a half of month. Some girls jump to the conclusion that 'his skin must be sensitive'. Alice feels a bit guilty – just a bit. She doesn't dare to ask Allison, but she catches herself randomly thinking, is Kiku alright?

After exact time of fifteen days, he's back, all smiling as if nothing has happens, and says how much he misses the class, and of course:

"Thanks to one special soup, I'm given a very enjoyable vacation." His eyes fixes on her (it's just her or his eyes are really really sharp?), a smile on his face, a gentler and slier smile. She smiles back – okay, he can't really harm her, he has no evidence.

"It's the first time…" He continues, smiling very brightly that it's disturbing. "Someone has used scones in soup. Miss Kirkland is such a genius."

"Yes, it's my unique idea." She forces a smile, hoping that her voice isn't shaking. He laughs lightly, if she didn't know better, she would definitely think it's the nicest laugh she's ever heard. The guilty feeling is now turned into 'puzzlement' and 'regret'. What will he do with her?

After that, Kiku spends the whole lesson lecturing about the-heart-of-the-cook.

"First, you have to make sure that the ingredients are fresh. Second, find out as much as information about what food your 'victim' is allergic to, (he's sending her a meaningful look) because it can be very dangerous. It's a common knowledge, I believe. Furthermore, remember what kinds of food mix together will cause food-poisoning. So, does anyone have question?"

"If that person is forgetful, then –" Alice raises her hand. " – does he have to take responsibility?"

"It depends on how much harm that person does." He's delighted, she can say.

Note to self: Every guy with black hair whose name is Kiku Honda is really merciless with his words. Honestly, that guy is polite to everyone but her. She wonders how he'll make her pay for it. Ordering her to wash more dishes, insulting her in front of everyone, or forcing her to eat those terrible left-overs?

What does she do to defy the high power above that she has to meet him?

* * *

Weekend, she goes to the centre. Nothing has happened during two weeks, but Alice can't get her guard down. Alex has taught her to be on constant alert, because your worst enemy may appear when you're least expected.

She stops at the door, staring at the chaos. A turkey hen is tied against a chair and squeaking loudly, some fishes jump up and down in the bucket, and there're crabs at the corner of the room.

"Oh, Miss Alice." Whenever Kiku calls her name, it's a bad sign. "Please finish the hen and the fishes and crabs. I'd appreciate your help."

"What?" She cries. How can she do it? "But I haven't…" He's the one who never lets her do anything but wash dishes and pick vegetable!

"It's the requirement to pass the basic. You have to do it."

"But..." All she knows is hit the fish's head with the knife!

"And please be careful with the crabs, they may attack you."

Alice shots Kiku a dark look. She knows it, she knows he will make her life miserable. Compared to him, Allison and Alex sound like extremely responsibly brothers and Amelia and Francoise are really good friends. She takes the knife and grabs the hen, "May you reborn as human." Her hands are shaking when she holds the knife near its neck.

And the hen peaks her in the arms, hard, she loses control, and the knife adds another nasty cut to her fingers. Grimacing in pain, she hears the sound of breaking dishes everywhere. Kiku's telling others not to let the hen escape from the window. Alice scowls. He's all talk and good at ordering people around.

Suddenly, a bigger hand takes hers. "Are you alright? The cut looks bad. Come on, you have to make the bleeding stop." To say Alice's shock can be an understatement. She feels her traitor of a face heating up and hangs her head down before nodding.

No one can catch the animal, so the party is delayed until when-who-knows. Everyone is cleaning the mess, and it's strange that no one blames her. Alice starts awkwardly:

"Sir…?"

"Please, just call me Kiku."

She breathes in relief, and smiles. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Oh, and now she's getting more and more nervous.

"Kiku…"

"Hm?" He doesn't take his eyes off her fingers.

"Do you hate me?"

He looks at her weirdly before smiling – the same smile, but it's somehow different, much gentler, much brighter. "Why do you think that?"

"Because…"

"Because I've made things difficult to you during all lessons?"

"I…" The world is falling her here.

"But I must politely refuse to answer that." Kiku shakes his head. "It's better if you remember yourself. I'll give you a hint, the thing happened two years ago, when your brother invited me to come over for dinner."

She honestly doesn't remember.

"Then why do you teach people how to cook?"

"There has to be a reason?"

"Because you think girl needs to know how to cook to get married."

"I haven't said I think that."

"What?"

"You're sometimes slow, Miss Alice." He says, she scowls in response. He laughs lightly – damn him and his nicest in the world laugh!

"Gender doesn't have anything to with it. Everyone needs to make good food, especially for their dear ones."

She blinks and brightens at his words: "Does it mean I don't have to wait hundred years to get married?"

"That… oh, I have no idea." She puffs her cheeks. "Just don't give me scones." He pats her shoulder. "Miss Alice is a good girl."

She wonders if she should let him know – that… he's the actually motivation that she hasn't left that class.

A touch to her ear makes her startle, and a whisper follows: "If the worst happens, I won't let you wait hundred years."

Please God, tell her that he isn't saying what she's thinking.

* * *

"_Excuse me, can you show me the way to the Kirkland household?"_

_The girl seems to startle by his question before looking up from her book. And suddenly all Kiku can see is green, the forest green that reminds him so much of his old home._

_"Go straight ahead, and do you see that big house, the Kirklands live on the left of that house. I assume that Allison has forgotten to give you the direction?"_

_"How can you -?"_

_Before he can finish the question, a loud voice calls:_

_"Hey, Alice! I finally found you!"_

_She turns to him, "That's the way", before going towards the other girls._

_Kiku knows what happiness looks like, blonde hair and green eyes and a tale of wonderland._

_(Alice)._

* * *

**Author Note: I hope you enjoy your reading. And please don't fav or alert without reviews, because it's such a long way /sob/**

**Why did I name Nyo!England Alice? It's all for the 'a tale of wonderland'.**


	32. Beautiful

This chapter is meant to be post yesterday, but during posting, my network crashed and I could only 'argh'. Btw, I intended to make it portrayed on Nyo!Russia's POV... how on earth did that end up being America's?

Dedicated to **RandomReader01 ** who has given me so much love.

And for **Anon **that requested Prussia/Nyo!Romano, it'll be the next chapter.

**disclaimer: **Supposed I owned this one, I'd have to run away for my life because of dissatisfied fans and I'm never a good runner.

* * *

The first time he sees her, he thinks of an angel in light blonde hair and lilac-coloured eyes, (_'your glasses really need fixing', _England says, '_She's Russia, she might look pretty, but she'll poison you.' – 'Don't worry, Iggy, I'm the hero, I'll be alright.) _But he knows it's a lie. She looks at him, hands ghost over his cheeks and says something about 'young and lively', and all America can feel is the coldness in her hands.

He's almost forgotten how to breathe until England yells at him to start the meeting.

xxx

The second time he sees her, she looks at him with mild interest, as if she forgot who he is before flashing him a fake smile. She's faster than he can remember, takes off his glasses and twirls it around her hands.

"Give my Texas back." He says, and he hopes it comes out strongly.

"Oh." She sighs wistfully, "You have such clear blue eyes." She hands his glasses back eventually, and America thinks of the cold again.

_She's like what you can never believe._

xxx

The third time he sees her, it's after the dissolution of Soviet Unions. He doesn't want everything to happen like that, because the cold he feels when she's around is getting worse and worse and god, the winter is nothing in comparison. She holds her head high and proud and walks in that gorgeous walk of hers, the walk that he has no right to look at – damn, he's the hero, he isn't supposed to feel like it.

"What're you doing here?" She asks, voice cold and distant.

"I…" The words are failing him there, so instead of saying anything, he gives her a banquet of roses, which she immediately rips to shreds and tosses to the ground.

(Later, he wonders, would it be different if he brought sunflowers?)

"Save your pity, America."

_She's never look more beautiful than when she's tearing him down._

xxx

The forth times he sees her, he really really sees _her, _the poisonously and destructively angelic girl presses her lips to his own.

The victory tastes bitter and her lips taste like ashes.

It might be love, he thinks, but it's too late.

(_She laughs and says: "America, you win.")_

* * *

**Note: **The only thing I know is that I somehow break my otp. I've always broken them into pieces. And of course, I just need to defy canon and history and their relationship.


	33. Fascination

Here is Prussia/Nyo!Romano for you, Anon! Do you know that Prussia is too awesome to be describe simply by words? (It's an excuse for him being OOCs, I admit.)

**disclaimer: **Prussia is too awesome to be my property, and Romano would send mafia after me if I dared to claim.

* * *

He's sure it isn't love, well, it isn't even lust. (Let's wish that Spain would know nothing about it, or he'd kill Prussia, best friend or not.) Maybe the only word can describe Prussia's feelings for that foul-mouthed Romano girl is fascination. (He's rather hard to fascinate something, you know, but Old Fritz always kept saying that some weird feeling just stems from simple things.)

All this starts from the fact that she has the greenest eyes he's ever seen, even greener than Hungary.

"What the fuck are you looking at, potato bastard?" She glares at him, and her eyes are so green. She'd make a beautiful image if she wasn't cracking her knuckles and looked like she was about to skin him alive. In her opinion, Prussia and France are bad influence on Spain, as if Spain himself weren't bad enough.

"What do you mean?" Prussia asks, flashing his best smile at her. Because to be honest, her fist is as scary as Hungary's pan.

Her glare intensifies. Heck, how in the world do her eyes get greener?

"You're fucking staring at me! What bad intention you're hiding?"

"Why do you always assume that I have bad intention? Do you not understand that I'm too awesome for that?"

"Stop fucking around!"

He catches her fist in time, and she kicks him, but he's the awesome Prussia, of course he will never fall into a trick like that, so he dodges and jumps back.

"Okay, okay." He raises his hands. "I'm looking at your eyes."

"What the fuck?" She's clearly taken back, but somehow manages to swear at the same time.

"The awesome me has said my reason." He shrugs and walks away, but not before glancing at her over his shoulder.

Of course, she doesn't really put her mind into his words, because she's walking towardsItaly, a mass of brown curls and head held hight, andPrussia wonders what is special about her.

* * *

**Notes: **Oh, that is it. What's so special about her? We don't know, Prussia, we don't know.


	34. Why can't I hate you?

**disclaimer: **Nothing is mine except for the hope that someday, maybe... someday... soon.

(We all know that someday never comes.)

**Forest of Snowflake Blossoms, **you're so lovely. Writing them is so much fun.

So, nothing much to say about this chapter, since it basically just lengthens my headcanon about Japan and Nyo!China if they're involved in romantic relationship.

* * *

Japan has always sort of hated China. Honestly, all problems start with her never changing smile. He has known that smile since he was born. That smile is the smile of a woman who has the world in her hands, who pulls the strings, and you're the puppets. You'll go to any directions she wants you to, and you'll fall under her feet, and you simply can't resist it. That's the power of her hands, her smiles, and you're always powerless.

(That's why he pointed his sword at her and then ran – her smile never faltered.)

And then her eyes. They're wide and amber and full of wisdom and mysteries, of life and love. And once upon a time he wished it was directed at him, but her heart is divided into many fragments and he's just one of them. She's a nation, all grown up and burdened so many things on her shoulder and as a nation, he should have known that better. But he's with her long enough to know it's there, he sees it, there's a longing in her eyes like he's never seen and felt that in anyone else. He knows she wants something, something so much bigger than anyone can give. Because of that, he knows she knows fear and vulnerability. She's lived so long, with a vulnerability that anyone will want to change, to fix.

(She tried to stay out of her rulers' affair as much as possible, but it all ended up her worrying too much and went into the world. He didn't say anything, because if she wanted something big, how could she enjoy the quiet living with him and the children – How naïve he'd been, how obvious he'd been to her true happiness.

She'd shaken really badly when his katana was behind, sharp and coldcoldcold even in his own hands. But he chose to ignore, because she's China, who live through much more destruction than he could count. She will stand up, and strike back with all her glory – who's he to overcome such will?)

China won't let anyone fix her, though. She won't let _him. _China does not need fixing, does not need charity, she does not need love. She sees man, and what love has done to them. Love brings pain. Love breaks. Love can't fix anything. It'd become a lie if Japan said he didn't feel pleased when England brought her roses, the poor flowers that she accepted with a smile but threw them away afterwards. Every one gives roses to the one they love until the words become meaningless, and he watches as she's tending the peonies, virility and happy marriage. (Ironic, isn't it?)

That's the thing about China. She's great, she's brilliant, she's unreadable. She brings joy and laughter with her all the time, draws attention whenever she goes. She smiles and make you open to her, and when you're hurt, she'll be there, smiling brightly. Even if you hurt her, and he knows from experience, she'll give you her brightest smile.

(It takes a lot of willpower and concentration to keep you from blind by that smile, and it takes more to see there's actually no light in her eyes.)

Perfect. Gorgeous. Wise. Irresistible. That's what she is.

Japan never likes people that are too irresistible. He never likes those that never break. But he's always attracted by wisdom and charm and beauty. There's no one that has such big influence on him. There was time that he knew nothing but her and her alone. There was time that he almost forgot he's a nation, that he never wanted to break away, that he wished he was only her Ja Hua.

Japan hates China for making him love her. He hates China because he can never hate her.

* * *

**Notes:** I'd love to know what you think of this chapter. Who knows writing about those two could be that fun and complicated?

Pretty please.

And I accept pairings suggestion, because I can never seem to remember all characters. And you guys always think of the most surprising pair, haha.


	35. Smile

**disclaimer: **Dearest Himaruya-sensei, would you please -? I'm joking, I'M JOKING!

**Forest of Snowflake Blossoms, **** with the prompt Smiles. **

And all I want to do is ask myself what have I done.

* * *

The first thing he notices is how brilliant her dark hair in the moonlight. The second is wondering what she's doing outside at half past midnight why she should be sleeping soundly, even though he happens to be in the exact situation, except that he's here to fulfill a dare (she might be out there due to her age – it's a good thing that she can't read his thought.) She's gazing at the moon, the corner of her lips tug upward, she's smiling - an ohsofamiliar image that Japan doesn't need to ask himself why his heart is aching.

"You should be -" He stops himself, suddenly has the feeling of a criminal for messing such a beautiful picture.

"Sleeping?" She asks, voice almost carried by the wind,"Guess that old age has affected me. And you?"

"I… I'm going for a walk." It isn't a complete lie, either, because he does intend to do so after finishing with the dare.

She turns and allows him to take in her whole features under the moonlight. Her smile is still on her face."Oh, do you mind sitting here for a bit? I feel kind of nostalgic now."

It will be like his childhood, he muses, sitting next to each other and gazing at the moon and she told him about all the myths and legends, Hang'e and her Moon Rabbit, which he gradually paid no mind but instead staring at her, then she caught him staring and smiled.

China always smiles. It's been like that since he met her, she's all smiling and talking and joking. Once upon a time, he grew to love her smiles. In his naïve mind, her smile always lightened the whole world, always so warm, so caring, it was like seeing the paradise he only heard in legends. And she still smiled when his sword stabbed at her from behind, with a whisper of 'Ah, you've finally become so strong.'

He hates it when she smiles – meaningless and dull and no light in her eyes.

"No, I don't want to." He says finally, and walks away. Perhaps to find someone else to finish Korea's stupid dare, because kissing China is definitely not the smartest choice.

His heart is heavy and her smiles never falter.

* * *

**Notes: **No, I'm not happy with this chapter either, but I'm in the mood for them so why the hell not?

Tell me what you think. Suggestions are welcomed.


	36. Someday

**disclaimer: **If the fate decided to make a mistake, I'd own this.

**Forest of Snowflake Blossoms,**** here is your prompt Someday. **

Three chapters about this pairing in a row, what's wrong with me?

* * *

Japan thinks he'll marry her someday – the petite woman with pretty eyes and rosy cheeks and flowers in her hands and bright smile like the darkness is just a pathetic lie, like he's safe and she's safe while there isn't – they're countries and their neighbors from the north is anything but friendly.

He thinks of someday when he'll sit next to her near the door, and she'll tell him about the Moon Rabbit again and looks at him as her equal, not a brother, not a child. There will be someday when she'll do that, because there's something in her smiles that say "_You're the home when I can rest, and I need you'._

He thinks of someday when he'll act on instinct to pull her into a hug and scatter kisses into her hair and says, '_I'm sorry, I miss you, I need you', _and she'll smile and forgive, because he knows she'll do it.

He thinks there's some redemption in her, that through proximity or diffusion or peace that he can find absolution for meeting his Kings and discuss how they can overcome her and her rulers, how they can destroy her and her people – for the greater good, they say.

He thinks of someday when he says he's admired her for his whole life, thinks she'll love him and not for he used to be her adoptive brother or for the sake of her people.

He thinks of someday when he'll marry her – China – but then he remembers the greater good and freedom (Vietnam, he thinks, is really overly obsessed with freedom and independence, but too hasty and too reckless. He won't be like her, he'll act slowly and slowly and he knows it'll hurt China even more.), but then he remembers he's Japan and a country, and with a status like that it's impossible for them to prevent clashing.

They're bound to hurt each other at some point.

And he can only ever lose her.

* * *

**A/n: **Please review.

(Next chapter is probably about Asians too, I apologize.)


	37. Hate

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing that you recognize.

**Notes: **HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRUSSIA, YOUR ROYAL AWESOMENESS GOSH I LOVE YOU.

* * *

Hungary is tired of people saying and assuming that she hates Prussia. In all honesty, she doesn't – it's hard not to grow attached to someone you've known for so long. She hates many things about him – his ego (which somehow manages to get bigger and bigger day by day), his haughty laugh, his bullying Austria, his arrogant attitude, and honestly, who has bird rest on his head as if it was the bird's own nest? She hates that she makes her lose her head. But she doesn't hate him, not exactly.

Prussia has an unforgettable and intoxicating effect on people. With his white hair (it sparkles diamon in the sun, she swears), his red eyes (it's not fair when he gets all the beautiful color to himself.), he can be listed as an attractive young man. But it's not his look that attracts her, it's his _charm _(the word is falling her here – hey, anyone has their own traitorous thoughts, right?). He's surprisingly good with words (it's a crime to know so many words to describe greatness of thing), and he has confidence that makes him a _nation, _a _man. _She'd hate to think of him as a city, because he used to be so great, so out of her reach, and even after being dissolved, he continues to drift far away. And Hungary, the poor girl, is left behind and tries her best to catch up. So she forces a scowl to hide her tears when he walks away, retorts intelligently when he flirts with her to hide the fact that she feels entirely flattered, hits him on the head with her pan when he teases her to hide the ghost of a gentle smile.

Prussia is admirable (to be honest, she doesn't know if she would last were she in his position). He's increbible funny and he makes her smile. It's hard to hate him. In fact, she even finds him impressive. Oh god, does she hate impressive things. She absolutely loathes people who think they're impressive or even worse, people who are really impressive. They drive her mad, but no one can reach Prussia's level, because he's both.

Calm down, Hungary, you should hate the crime, not the criminal. Therefore, she doesn't hate Prussia at all, just there're some aspects of him that she can't accept. This means she shouldn't admire Prussia, shouldn't find him attractive, shouldn't find him great, and she absolutely shouldn't find him awesome as he likes claiming all the time. This leads to a conclusion, Hungary is angry at Hungary for loving Prussia, Hungary is also angry at Elizabeta for loving Gilbert, which of course, leads to her screaming and attacking the guy whenever she feels like it.

All in all, Hungary hates Hungary.

* * *

Notes: Please review. Suggestions encouraged.

(This chapter is meant to Asian family bonding, but it's Prussia's birthday. It's important!)


	38. what a day!

**disclaimer: **The card game and I are friends.

Here is your request, **RandomReader01, **this is such a big family. Some might be OOCs.

You all know that Yong Soo is South Korea, and I decide to mention North Korea. Even before I read about North Korea, I've always imagined Yong Soo's twin would be a girl. I search and find out that the name Hwa Jeong is pretty popular.

(Even if North Korea is man, I just bend the canon. As if I haven't done that already.)

* * *

"Yong Soo, let go of my hair, you idiot!" Taiwan shrieks, untangling her limbs from South Korea and elbowing him hard in the guts before he can utter something as stupid as 'Your hair was invented in Korea'. Korea grunts something, possibly cursing Japan in his head for teaching her such dangerous moves, and chases after the girl and she crashes into -

"Ouch – Hong Kong, what -?"

"Are you alright?" He catches her right arm before she falls and keeps her in her place. Her other hand is nursing her forehead and Taiwan can swear that Hong Kong's body is made of stone.

"I'm not okay at all." She winces. "No, it's not the crash, Yong Soo is being a jerk –"

"I'm not!"

"What's going on?" Macau appears behind Hong Kong, holding a plate of cake. He gives Taiwan one of them and she takes a bite, just to calm herself.

"Dear Yong Soo here is teasing me about Japan," she rolls her eyes in distaste. "I assure you, there's nothing between us. And no, Im Yong Soo," She adds icily as he opens his mouth to defend himself, "You will not say he's acting strange around me and his strangeness is from KOREA!" To emphasize her point, she fixes him with a fiercing glare that only China can manage. (She's learnt from the best source.)

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not"

"Everything is from Korea!"

"They're -"

Macau sighs, adjusting his glasses. "How old are you two now? I'd think you can manage it in a more mature way."

Taiwan and Korea stare at him, "How?"

"Rock, paper, scissors, what else?" Macau say importantly, Korea hangs his mouth open, Taiwan looks at him with wide eyes, she can hear Hong Kong choke on his cake as well.

"Macau, seriously?" She asks weakly.

Korea nods and agrees, "Even though the game originates in Korea, but really? Even Hwa Jeong can come up with better joke."

"Hwa Jeong does have a sense of humour." Hong Kong comments, remembering the other Korea twin. "Every twisted one." And North Korea in his head is armed with knives and a bright smile on her face, he shudders lightly. Luckily that she doesn't come today.

"And Vietnam doesn't have any humour." Korea sighs. "Just imagine her telling jokes… Her expressionless is disturbing. I can't believe that attitude originates in Korea."

Macau doesn't understand why they don't approve his solution. But as their brother, he must think of another one. So, he gives them a stern look and clears his throat. Everyone turns to him.

"If you don't like it. We'll solve it with…"

"Wh -?" Taiwan is surprised.

" – A card game." He says with a tone of finality. "Card game can solve anything."

Macau nods to himself,Taiwan and Korea sighs in exasperation, and suddenly grin at each other before turning their sparkling eyes to Macau and jumping on him –Hong Kong would say they can read each other's mind, but well, if the three of them don't eat cakes, they're officially his now. And he walks away, leaves Macau struggling with Taiwan and Korea.

* * *

Somewhere in his house, China is having his daily tea. "Aiyah, it's so peaceful today." Then he sighs wistfully, staring at the lotus pond "If only Xiao Lin were here with us too. Why don't they give her free time?"

"She told me she might come later." Thailand assures China.

"I think I hear Macau yelling something…" Japan hesitantly voices his opinion.

"It's just the joy of youth." Thailand says as he places his cup on the table.

Japan blinks before nodding: "You're right. Good tea, China-san."

"I know, I know." China says cheerfully.

Outside, Macau is still screaming for help.

* * *

**Notes: **"Xiao Lin" means Little Lotus, the nickname I think China would call Vietnam.

Poor Macau, I'm sorry.

Please review. Suggestions are welcome.


	39. Star

**disclaimer: **Even the star don't belong to me.

Again, thanks **Forest of Snowflake Blossoms** for giving me prompt and pairing. She requested a Nyo!Taiwan/Nyo!Hong Kong with the prompt "Star". I hope I portray their personality clearly enough for you to understand.

Please enjoy your reading time.

* * *

Taiwan has always had a weird obsession over stars, to the point that if someone speaks the world 'star' she'll immediately think of him.

And no one can blame her, because he's a ball of starlight with sparkling eyes (believe her, his eyes are like that all the time), bright smiles and feature-lighted touches and overly carefree attitude. Everything about him is about stars, which are weaved into constellations and sparkle and light up the night sky, and no one can touch that boy, because he's star and you'll get burned.

(But England has given her a name of star – Lyra Kirkland – and she can deal with it better than anyone else except maybe China who has lived too long to be affected by everything, even starlight – but Taiwan is not China, and she's not everything, so maybe it even out.)

He's listening to his Ipod the day she finds him by the bridge, the surrounding seems to shimmer in the fading orange, and suddenly she finds her red umbrella is a bit dramatic. He turns, and greets her with a smile like starshine.

"Hong Kong."

"Good afternoon, stargazer." She says, standing next to him with long dark hair and eyes almost orange under the umbrella. He's so bright, standing here, humming, and stars in her eyes. In instinct, he stretches his hands to tug the almost falled down flower back in her hair.

"Please, Hong Kong, close your umbrella. It's sunset already. Pretty please?" He says, curling his hands around hers, his fingers warm over her cold ones. She keeps silent, because if there's one thing she is not, it's _open, _she's always the one to think through before speaking, never ever acts without thinking a lot – if Taiwan is the one who tends to forget everything as if weaving his own constellation in the skies, Hong Kong is already a star who seems to never walk on earth.

No one knows why they can do it without falling.

After few minutes, Taiwan keeps smiling, and Hong Kong closes her umbrella.

"Alright!" He claps his hands in delight, then smoothens his pants and wraps his arms around her shoulder. "Ready to stargaze!"

"What do they look like?" She asks.

He turns to her, eyes wide. "You don't know?" She shakes her head – she is no miracle worker, living long and being named after stars do not mean she can read them as easily as him. "Well…" He says a bit wistfully. "I forgot to bring my telescope, you can see them more clearly with it."

"It's alright." She smiles and when he grins back at her, she thinks the stars in his eyes might be less bright, enough for her to see her own reflection in it. "We can always enjoy themselves."

"You're always right!" His grip on her shoulder tightens as if he wanted to pull her into a hug, but for some reason stops himself. "You, me, stars, umbrella, flower, and music!"

"Right, music and star." She agrees, standing closer as the first stars twinkle silver and white against the dark sky.

It's simple and enough, she thinks, with stars and music and a bright boy with star-filled dreams and shining eyes.

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**Notes: **Cheesy stuff is cheesy.

Please review. (I can't believe I said I finished with Asian, because tomorrow chapter will possibly be China and Nyo!Russia. POSSIBLY). Suggestion encouraged.


	40. Falling Star

**disclaimer: **I'm writing a letter to Hima-sensei, but I don't think it'll ever be accepted. So of course, I don't own Hetalia. I'm simply not awesome enough.

I'm supposed to post China/Nyo!Russia but I came home very late and this is the only thing I had in my mobile phone, since I couldn't open my computer. I apologize in advance for grammar errors. I guess it is a good break from Nyotalia (and Asia.)

Please enjoy your reading time.

(I just need to write Belgium - or any girls - like some kind of destructive girl, what's wrong with me?)

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Belgium, he realizes, is like a shooting star: she always shines overly brightly, and all of sudden, before you know it, she's crashing down in such a speed that can put lightning in shame and you have to wonder how much she's burning. And when she crashes, she's tired and bruised and alone and she doesn't shine anymore.

Spain is the person who waits patiently to catch a falling star, even if he's also got caught in this spiral as well. He waits until she reaches the bottom, waits until she's tired and needs him and wants him, and loves him. It's kind of selfish, if he ever admits, to want her to crash down. He wants to hold her and to have her as his own even if she'll never accept.

It'll be sad, really, when there is supposed to have nothing beautiful about the way a star crashes and no one to catch the falling star. Who wants to catch it, anyway? Your hands will burn and it might kill you before you can realize. Shooting star is bound to fall, and it'll never find acceptance.

Spain doesn't think like that.. Maybe it's because he's not exactly human either, and the wound will heal eventually. He always has plenty of time. The country needs him, his people needs him, the world needs him, so he has to keep on walking even if Belgium doesn't. There will be a time when everything makes sense again, a time when he's needed and wanted and loved. Maybe it'll be a time when she doesn't need to be an about-to-fall crashing star and just goes to him.

He's always there to catch a falling star.

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**Notes: **Please review and tell me what you think. AND, suggestions are always welcomed. As I've said before, it's you guys that come up with the most surprising and adorable pairing ever.

(... I don't think I can write HRE.)


	41. cold

**disclaimer: **my capacity to own these characters is about the same as owning ... something hard to own?

It's the chapter for** HoneyBeeGirl94**. I don't think I see anything about China's being light in Nyo!Russia's cold world. But I think I did make her feel warm (hopefully)

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Ever since you were born, all you've been remembered is the coldness of it. You could hear nothing but the screaming noise made by the cold wind, you couldn't sense any living thing around you. It's like you were born to be a monster, to destroy and to be feared (to be alone.) But even so, there're times that you like to think there must be something human trapped inside you. You like to think that it's small and it tickles like a little clock somewhere inside you, keeping track of the next time you'll be one with the coldness. But it must be there, keep you sane, for you could be more terrifying without it.

And China, old and wise and understanding, believes in you. He sees most of it all. He makes sure to remind you of this whenever necessary, when you're caught up in the destructive spiral that you create because no one wants the cold, when you're locking yourself up because the winter has come, when you're staring at the horizon, at the vast whiteness of snow, your heartbeat sounds ridiculously unsteadily to your ears, flashes of memories in your mind that makes you feel either laughing or crying; when the sunflower blooms and you will yourself not to destroy them because they represent everything opposite to you (a kind of flower that always reaches to the sun. And what's the sun but a violent light that will destroy your cold – _you?)_

You ask him, sometimes, for the proof of it all, for whatever he sees inside you can make you a human. You seethe at him in attempt to terrify him, to make him back down and set you free. But that man, who's lived long since before you barely knew you were a country, who's as warm as the sun, who brings the smell of fresh leaves and earth, who's so unreachable, looks at you with these eyes and says: _We are going to fall eventually, but the fall of a human is less painful than that of a nation. When I fall, it will be nice of you to be there. And I'll be there for you._

(Maybe he sees something similar in you, that you both were left and betrayed by the one you thought as family.)

And every time, you give him a cold smile, _I'm not going to fall. _You don't think it's safe to let your gratefulness be seen. This pattern has replayed itself over and over again, and you look at him as if he was a stranger before walking away in order to hide your seemingly being caught off guard expression.

Sometimes, you catch yourself wondering if the ever caring Lithuania, the ever bright Prussia, and the ohsoradiant America have ever seen you as anything less than an evil and poisonous monster.

Even if they did, you do not care anymore.

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**Please review.**

**Suggestions and pairing requests are always welcome. **


	42. Understand

**disclaimer: **Hima-sensei owns the characters, and it's not likely that he'd let me own them. Okay, it's totally impossible.

My English isn't so good, and neither is my French. I know nothing but 'good morning' and 'I love you'.

Where's England's tsundere side?

* * *

'Mon Lapin', is what that bloody git calls her in that terrible language of his (she will never understands French terms of endearment - how can you relate a person to a plant-eating animals? Even though rabbits are really really cute, but she doesn't do cute.), brushing past her on his way out the door, and she's in the middle of kicking his vital region when she realizes he's stuffed a piece of paper in her hands. It's a love poem, of course, and his bloody handwriting is actually bearable though it's in French, and she wishes she had no idea what the hell he was doing during the meeting, but unfortunately, they're England and France and they know each other so well and she just can't. She has tea party with her fairy friends next, and for the first time in a long time, tea worsens her mood. No, not the tea, it's the fairies that say she's having an aura of love.

Thinks about it, takes a pause, collects thoughts, breathes in, breathes out, calls his name.

_Francis._

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**Notes: **Short drabble is short.


	43. Lipstick

**disclaimer: **No connection to Himaruya-sensei whatsover.

for **FallenAngelWings, **who requested FrUK with Nyo!France. The same as France, I can't write Nyo!France at all so I decided to write in England's POV, which is slightly better. Short drabble is short.

BUT SURELY ENGLAND WITH TREAT NYO!FRANCE DIFFERENTLY FROM FRANCE... right?

* * *

Her too brilliant, too noticeable red lipstick leaves its mark on his cheek, the radiant color contrasts to pale skin. He blames it on the weather, clouds always so thick that sunlight barely reaches to his skin to tan it a little. Knowing her, this lipstick will be incredible hard to wipe it off his skin. But he keeps pretending to sleep, keeps breathing in and out evenly, because he knows even if he wakes up she won't bother to stop and his sleeping will make everything easier.

It's not like the two of them will bicker less because of this, but there's something about the way she presses kisses to his face on the mornings, uncaring about smudging her has-just-done makeup that assures him that she – always so radiant, so beautiful, so confident – loves him. If she knows he's always awake when she does that, it'll stop and he's so sure of that, so he keeps his eyes shut until she decides to wake him up, and he'll pretend to be annoyed because these stained lipsticks are damn hard to wipe, hands touching the place where her lips have caressed. She'll smile her annoyingly bright smile before complaining that she's no better shape than him since her makeup is ruined. He'll tell her she shouldn't have done that in first place.

You know what'll happen next? She'll say since her makeup has already been ruined and her eyes will twinkle before jumping and pressing a morning kiss to his mouth.

And when she leaves to reapply her make-up, he's furiously wiping the marks on his lips - but he smiles anyway, for the her warmth still lingers there.

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**Please review. **


	44. Propriety

**disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia: Axis Power and its characters.

I've grown a soft spot for this pairing since I wrote 'letters of memory'. Nyo!Japan is a bit OOC there.

* * *

She's been observing and following proprieties since before Japan could remember. She's dressed in proper kimono and never gotten messy and always worked hard to improve herself and been polite to people and done what she's supposed to do. She's the image of the politeness, with her black hair and black eyes and never-overly bright smile and careful manners.

And that has never changed, until America comes and asks her to opens up her borders, and she's forced to spend time in his company.

"You need to relax, Japan," He tells her cheerfully from behind as she is watching cherry blossom, and nearly scares her to death. "That's decided, the hero will help you!"

He doesn't even bother to listen to her protests as she leads her away from her house, they run past a river with Japan's wondering dryly how he knows the way, and towards a beautiful waterfall.

"It's… beautiful." Very picturesque, if she admits out loud. "But why do you bring me here?"

He grins, casually wraps his arm around her shoulder, and Japan wonders again if he really doesn't notice her discomfort or just ignores it, "What else? To have fun!"

The he pushes her into the freezing cold water.

"Being proper?" She smiles later when Mito is in the middle of his rant about why she's all soaking and wet, "What does that means?"

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**Please review. **


	45. Rain

**Disclaimer: **Can you let a poor soul mourn in peace?

For **Zilan**, who has been such a dear.

sorry for the accent, sorry for I have no idea how to portray Sweden. Nyo!Sweden is much easier.

(Hima-papa has confirmed Sve's sexuality, but being the brat as I am, I bend the canon, I break it into pieces! I'm sorry for that, too.)

And I enjoy writing this a little too much.

* * *

Finland is the girl of winter, so it's natural that she loves the snow. It's true anyway, she does love the vast whiteness surrounds the country and like walking in the snow - he loves her in the snow, with red cheeks and pink lips and scarf tightly wraps around her neck. But if there's something she likes to romanticize, it must be the rain. She often tells whoever willingly listens to her that there's something about the rain, about the way water falls down from the sky like that. As the rain cascades over her finger tips, she says that it can wash away more than dirt - that it washes aygway sins and sadness and unwanted anguish.

"Wh't mak's it differ'nt from snow?" He asks her.

"Snow symbolizes purity, light, innocence or a new beginning." She explains. "But I think if there isn't rain, then nothing of that sort can have."

It can calm you too, she says. It may be just water falling from the sky, but to Finland, it's more than that.

He likes her idea of the rain - well, to be fair, he likes everything about her. Of course a man like Sweden doesn't believe it, but he likes it, and sometimes wishes it were true that the rain would wash away sins and such. But it's just theory, because sin is what people like than had to commit and everything is in the past. Rain just can't do all. She just likes to romanticize things.

They don't fit together, it's unnatural, the two of them.

She's Finland - dreamy, sweet, kind, and most of all, full of light.

He's Sweden - too realistic, too distant, too awkward, and too dark.

He's too real for a dreamer girl like her.

But somehow, they makes it work, because even though rain can't wash away all problems they have, but she helps him to, every single day.

And it's enough for him.

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**Notes: **Please be kind and review.


	46. snow

**disclaimer: **I own nothing but my own poor soul.

this was supposed to be a snow date, or a walk in snow, but in the end it turned out like that, but bear with that, because I always imagine those babies first meet in snow. (I couldn't resist Magic Trio, either.) My headcanon of Nyo!Hong Kong basically consists of: a red oil paper umbrella, crimson sleeveless qi pao (a Chinese dress) and slipper-styled shoes. But it's winter so the qi pao is gone. Wonder what Ice's reaction will be like when he sees her in qi pao.

forgive my ranting.

thank **Forest of Snowflake Blossoms** for the prompt, even though **Snow **only plays as a background.

* * *

Someone would think that Iceland can endure the winter better than anyone else, with the word 'Ice' in his name or something, but he's shivering and gritting his teeth to keep himself from cursing Norway out loud. Of course, Mr Puffin has just gone somewhere for warmth, leaving Iceland alone to suffer the English winter. He kicks the ground, of course Norway just has to drag him here to meet his magic buddies. The reason, you ask? Ha –

"Romania will bring his younger brother. And England has one young girl in his house." Norway's said that, looking pointedly at Iceland and the silver haired boy knows he's going to face something terrible. Nothing is worse than listening to England, Romania and Norway talking about magic, or watching them portray magic and exchange magic experience.

That's why he decides to sneak out, poor little Moldova, who seems to so determined not to leave his brother with his two seemingly abnormal friend, even though Iceland personally thinks that Romania is equally weird. He doesn't see any sights of girl in England's house – either she's intelligent enough to avoid getting involved in or she just doesn't give a damn. Speaking of which, he can't believe there is still anyone left in England's house. Most of his colonies have left for years. Who can be patient enough to put up with England? He's heard she is Asian – he doesn't know much about the continent, except there're a lots of old nations there, maybe it has something do with her admirable patience -

He's so busy thinking that when he notices his surrounding, the snow has been falling for awhile and now his hair and clothes are wet with that white substance. Oh, how he dislikes snow. Iceland suppresses a groan and starts to shake his head to get rid of the snow. Suddenly there's someone standing behind him, protecting him from snow above with a strange designed umbrella. He turns his head to thank whoever it is -

And Iceland is glad that he doesn't utter any words at all, because he knows if he does it'll probably end up being stupid. It's a girl with long dark brown hair, almost black, and a pair of eyes that are as equally as dark. There's snow in her hair and her shoulder, and Iceland has a sudden urge to brush it off. Her cheeks are a little pink due to the cold, and there's a red scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. Her umbrella looks a little strange too.

She notices his look and says: "It's called oil paper umbrella, Chinese umbrella."

"Hm." He replies intelligently.

"Next time please pay attention, you wouldn't want the snow to stick to your clothes." She says. "You should go home."

"My brother is here." He says, decides to summon whatever courage he has because really, she is just a girl, except she's too pretty. "He's Eng - Mr Kirkland's friend."

She seems to ponder about it. "Arthur does mention that there's friends visiting today." And Iceland knows who she is immediately. "Hello, my name is Hong Kong, but you can call me Lyra, what's your name?" She gives him a smile, and her eyes are as bright as stars – or is it his imagination? (There's no way the cold sun can get warmer and the icicles hanging from tree branches can sparkle because of a simple smile, right?)

As they walk back England's house, she tells him that even thought it has been more than hundreds year, she sometimes forgets that she isn't in her homeland where there's no snow, that she should not have brought an umbrella to enjoy the snow. He looks at her like she's from another planet and Hong Kong suddenly comments about how much his hair looks like snow.

Iceland has never thought snow can be that beautiful until now – and maybe it can never get more beautiful than now – because it's how everything begins.

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**notes: **please review and give those babies love.

Feel free to request pairing.


	47. Gratitude

**disclaimer: I own nothing except for my own pencil, my own computer and my own butt.**

**I apologize for the shortness and crappiness, since I do not really ship them - but they look super cute together and one of my biggest goal to write Canada, it's here. **

**Please enjoy your reading time.**

* * *

He loves the way she looks in the early morning. He guesses it has something to do with her being soldier for a long time, because Julchen never changes her sleeping position – always sleeps on her left side, and so every morning those wild strands of white hair are rumpled and flat on the left side, and the first thing she does when she gets out of bed is running her fingers through her hair in annoyance and mutters angry about 'stupid long hair' and 'if it weren't for Old Fritz I'd cut you, you're not awesome at all' (Canada does some history research about Prussian history and decides that Frederick II is definitely his favorite, for many reasons). She then shakes her whole head until her hair is back in order. They're still a mess, of course, but she decides to ignore it since 'it'll always be a mess, anyway.' He likes that too, well, he likes everything about her, to be honest.

The next thing she does is turn to him and gives him a smile that says everything, and he returns with a smile that doesn't nearly say as much as hers, because it mostly says 'thank you' – _for noticing me, for loving me, for staying,_ **for**_ being who you are._

* * *

**I will be so touched you review. Feel free to give me your pairing.**


	48. Glass Girl

**disclaimer: **Belarus would throw her knives at me for bending the truth, I value my life very much. AND NO, YONG SOO, HETALIA ISN'T FROM YOU -

**Forest of Snowflake Blossoms, **I lovelovelove you for giving the prompt, even writing Belarus is difficult. Writing her is one of my biggest ambition.

The prompt is: **She is like glass**

Gosh I love Belarus's human name.

* * *

They become SouthKorea&amp;Belarus (YongSoo&amp;Natalya, he'll prefer it, of course) one summer afternoon when he accidentally crashes into her when she's trying to catch a glimpse of her brother (and thinking how to skin America alive – slowly and painfully.), and something clatters on the floor. Oh, how she knows that something.

"Are you blind -?" She snarls before raising her head, hastily pulls her sleeves to cover her fingers, hiding the scarlet mess on her pale arms. "South Korea, well well, what do I have here?"

The boy opens his eyes in terror as she gives him a shove, mouth twisted into a sneer, pretty face marred by scowl – then again, she is Belarus and she doesn't do smiling, there's no choice but scowl, and blank face won't do with South Korea. He watches as her pick up her trusty knife from the ground, drops of crimson brings back memories.

(She's like glass, twists and twists and breaks until she leaves all broken pieces in his skin and his heart and leaves him twitching, shaking, _bleeding.)_

"Belarus." He says, her name sounds foreign on his tongue at all.

"South Korea." She challenges, eyes narrow. This glass girl confuses him, puzzles him, the way she scatters herself and hides it with her aloofness and pretence.

"Are you alright?" There's no time for joke now, as he asks carefully.

(Belarus and everything about her never comes from Korea, because everything about her is so foreign to Yong Soo, even Russia is less distant.

That girl is drowning on her own lies, is being caught under the pressure, and slowly destroying herself. And when she throws her knife, she doesn't see or hear or feel anything, but a glass wall crumbling.)

"Fine." She snaps, head bent, arms starting to heal. He threads her fingers in her hair, murmurs apologize and she turns on her heal.

If there's something she hates about him, it's the way he treats her like she's glass – catching her arms but never forcefully enough to make her stop, but she stops anyway and they become YongSoo&amp;Natalya again.

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**notes: If you've read it this far, please review. **


	49. Tea

**TODAY IS SHIMAGUNI/ASAKIKU DAY AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME!** (Ihatemylife because I don't have time for longer story with two exams ahead.) SCREW IT NEXT WEEK I'LL WRITE ABOUT THEM AND -

It's not like anyone bothers to, anyway.

The prompt is **Tea, **supposed to be Japan/Nyo!England, but in the end I turned it into England/Nyo!Japan. Need to do another one next time.

**disclaimer: **(time to be serious) I don't own Hetalia and its characters, but it doesn't stop me from wishing someday -

Now, 113 years since Anglo-Japanese Alliance! (aka wedding anniversary)

* * *

Ever since she knows him, England has always made time for tea. No matter the day of the weak, or the weather, or how much work he has to finish, how urgent problems are, he'll always make himself tea. It doesn't change even when he comes to her house. If he stays long (few days, one week, two weeks), every morning she'll wake up with a cup of tea on the table – she wonders how he can keep it warm, sometimes, and he whispers 'magic'.

She can imagine how he does it. Water boils in the kettle, fresh tea leaves from the tea than only he possesses and a half teaspoon of honey (this is the only sweetening he allows, because he's afraid that the tea will be too bitter for her taste.) The smell of leaves lingers on him, there isn't a time that Kiku remembers Arthur doesn't smell of tea himself – something is vaguely like the smell of rose and fresh air in the morning. It is, admittedly, one of her favorite things, to press her face against his chest and smell that smell in his shirt with a pinch of tea that always stay around.

As she drinks the tea, slowly and carefully, she feels a hint of bittersweet at the beginning and sweet aftertaste. The tea is perfect, just like his love, but Kiku knows nothing is perfect. He's always a bit harsh on others (and himself), with wits and sarcasm and temper. But there are always praises and pride when he talks about her, and Kiku thinks it's so much more than cliché claims of love.

He never stays when she's enjoying the tea, and it's some sort of habit that Kiku has never questioned. It's alright, really, he makes tea and she drinks it, the sweet taste lingers in her mouth, just like his love.

One day, she wakes up and almost chokes on her tea. She spit the tea out, coughing – it isn't like Arthur to make mistakes in tea – and her eyes widen upon seeing the reason. Kiku feels her eyes getting warmer and warmer until tears are falling down. A peridot ring lies innocently in her palm, and Kiku's half crying and half smiling.

It's so Arthur. So gentle, so perfect.

(Just like his love)

* * *

**why peridot because it's Arthur's eyes. NO, HIS EYES ARE LIKE EMERALDS BUT DO NOT TELL ME ABOUT IT! **

**a/n:** so... please review because the day makes me squeal. I swear I was just a normal girl before I read doujinshi about them.

(Feel free to give me pairing. Really appreciate (my) otps)


	50. Life Mission

**disclaimer: **I don't see Himapapa will ever give me the copyright.

i know perfectly that Himapapa hasn't published the design for Nyo!Switzerland, so I don't know if I make her personality different enough from her male counterpart.

for **Forest of Snowflake Blossom,** with the prompts "childhood'' and ''I love you'' even though they're barely used, because I make them into "Life Mission''.

i want to try a new style, but in the end it comes back to normal (or so I thought.)

I FINALLY REACH 50TH CHAPTER.

* * *

You know the story, the boy-meets-girl-scenario-

He's a pianist with wonderful music, and he isn't suited for fighting at all, but he needs to fight, because he's on a mission, he wants to be seen, he wants to be heard, he wants to be strong, he wants to be free, and he'll not be distracted.

She's soldier who lives in dark, who kills as ordered, and no one can get away if they get in her way, but then, no one wants to live in darkness forever, so she fights, she's on a mission, she wants to be free, she wants peace, she needs to rebel, and she'll not be distracted.

it's maybe a little too much for children - but they're too old for their ages, and don't count them with human ages, because they've got eternity.

**they meet.**

she hates him instantly, she hates that annoying aristocratic boy, hates how weak he is, because honestly, how can a person get beated so many times? She hates how he's always acting like it's no problem, overly optimistic, she thinks, but that will lead him nowhere. Doesn't he see that? He might have a pretty little face, but weakling is weakling and she's tired of dealing with the aftermath. Childhood friends, they say, but everyone is wrong. She hates him, really.

He's a boy who thinks he'll be bright someday, an annoying distraction to her. She has no time for that, she's on a mission, she wants to rebel, she wants to be free.

He hates that girl as well, he hates that short-tempered Swiss girl, hates her with a passion. He hates how impatient and demanding she is, how she is always treating him like he's weak, how she's always telling him to back down from a fight, how she seems to never be able to see the light. What's the big deal of being defeated? The big deal is that you give up. He'll not give up. Everything will be all right someday. Doesn't she see that? He's almost forgotten, right, as if anyone who was raised in the darkness would see that. Childhood friends, they say, but everyone is wrong. He hates her, really.

She's the girl who thinks she'll never be able to rest, an annoying distraction to him. He has no time for that, he's on a mission, he wants to be seen, he wants to be heard, he wants to be strong, he wants to be free.

(Be free, they say, aren't you two too obsessed with that?)

**They clash**

She often wonder is it possible for someone to hate someone else with such a passion, and eventually, it becomes more than hatred and turns into something else. More hate? She doesn't agree, because she doesn't think someone like him can get more annoying. Friendship? Sort of, it's what people call them. Love? Plainly impossible.

But it's with her, everytime she looks at his bruised face and arms and legs, and everytime she helps him up, something happens, something changes, something unexpected. She doesn't know when and how it changes. Perhaps it's when she complains loudly and he just smiles? Perhaps it's when he finally snaps at her and walks away? Or when he comes back and apologizes?

She doesn't understand. She doesn't know why she can put up with him, why she stops herself from shooting him (he can't die anyway, so what's the matter?). But she continues to say, surprised by her own patience, and she thinks she may understand.

But he doesn't. He goes on and on in his chosen path, settling with marriage and she's with her country.

She doesn't tell him, though, because she's on a mission, and she will not be distracted.

(Childhood is no more as she looks at the flag in her hand and swears to protect her land, her people.)

**They kiss.**

It's an accident, actually. And he's enraptured. He doesn't recall a time before she became mercenary. Maybe she'd been so free, so carefree, her hair had been loose and long, her eyes had sparkled so emerald – maybe she'd been a pretty little girl who would have grown up into a beautiful woman. Like now, when she's covering her lips with her hands, emerald eyes flash, face red. He can still feel the lingering smell of edelweiss and alpenrose and grass.

He reaches out his hand and she avoids it – never in her life has she been grateful to her painfully short height – as Austria desperately convinces himself that it's an accident, not feeling. Because she isn't capable of such feeling (oh boy, are you sure?), in the end, he'll be the one gets hurt.

And he doesn't have time for feeling, because he's on mission, and he'll not (repeat not) be distracted.

(When even Chopin can't calm him down, he knows something is wrong.)

**They fall.**

She knows someday she'll be exhausted and mad because of hiding too long, but she doesn't really care. She also knows she can last, because she's been struggling and fighting for her whole life. Just some stupid feeling won't cage her down. She's good at pretending, she always is. She pretends she doesn't know, she pretends not to see Liechtenstein's knowing eyes. Maybe, if she keeps pretending, it'll be true one day.

Little does she know he might be a better actor than she thinks. Not that he's aware of he's acting. The thing is, he doesn't know what's wrong with him. He doesn't know why he keeps glancing at her during the meeting – god, sometimes he wishes she was a bit taller, it'd be easier to spot her when she disappeared in the crowd. (but don't tell her that, she'll shoot him mercilessly.) He doesn't know why he keeps checking on her. Isn't she an annoying distraction?

They're on a mission, they want to be free, therefore they stop.

(Childhood is long over. It's too late to mend anything.)

**They do the right thing.**

But he's Austria and pretending is something he detests, and he adds another goal to his mission.

As she opens her door to see him stand at the front door, edeiwess in hands, face flushed and breathing hard, she suddenly wants to laugh.

"You don't get lost, what a surprise!"

"I get lost in your eyes, not your house." Oh, that sounds cheesy even to his ears, and he wonders if it's the right thing to do to ask Prussia (and Hungary) for love advice.

For a moment, she swears her heartbeat stops and never starts again.

"I love you." He blurts out.

She slams the door at his face, which stuns him for a good minute before he finds himself trying to open the door. It's proved to be difficult, because she's trying to close it from inside.

"What's that, Switzerland?"

"I refuse to talk to you when you're acting crazy!"

"I'm perfectly sane." For a shorty, she's surely strong. "I love you."

"Why?" It almost surprises him as she stops struggling, voice drops to a whisper. (She isn't nervous, thank you very much, it's just – if they keep doing it, her door will be damaged, and it costs money) "Why do you? We hate - you hate me."

(They're on a mission)

"I don't hate you." He's looking straight at her in the eyes, but doesn't find anything amusing when she crings and makes a step backward. Liechteinstein is calling her from inside, so he has to make it quick.

A step forward. An outstretched arms. Reach to her. Lower your head. Don't hesitate. The girl is yours.

(They're on a life mission.)

Stiff. Struggling. Grab his arms. Stomp on his foot. Since when did he get so strong?

("Do not distract me" – Repeat not.)

Gives in.

"It… It's not like I love you so I let you do it. I just kind of… I'm in like with you."

Oh god, he loves her.

( The interesting thing about love is that it always changes. The love you feel for friend may turn into one for love and vice verse. And sometimes, unrequited love turns out to be requited before you can even realize.

He likes to think they're the most obvious example, him and her, Austria and Switzerland.)

He's pianist with wonderful music, she's soldier with too much light in her heart, and they start a new beginning.

* * *

**notes: **please review because it takes so long and a lot. Please review if you've read it this far.

next one is Hong Kong/NyoSouth Korea but feel free to give me pairing.


	51. (K)nightmare

**disclaimer: **i do not own Hetalia. Hima-papa doesn't give me any copyright.

(China: THEY CALL IT A COPY RIGHT BECAUSE YOU DO NOT HAVE RIGHT TO COPY)

i have no idea how to portray Nyo!South Korea, except in a serious light. what's wrong with me!

for the lovely **Ah Troublesome.**

**Another problem is that my computer betrayed me, which means I can't update regularly until it's fixed, hopefully before Kiku's birthday.**

* * *

She's having nightmare.

Again.

(and again).

The sound of guns and bombs from the dark, resounding painfully clear in the shadow, and when the dark advances and prisons her, all she could hear is the cold laughter of North (or is it China? or Japan?) She tries to crack a smile, but it is too dark for anyone to see anything.

She's trapped.

(dark, it's so dark, someone please come -)

She hears people screaming and bombs exploding. And memories of war flashes her mind, over and over, black and white, dark and light and red, red, red, red - North is standing opposite to her, face bruised, arm bloody and eyes cold.

Something wet and warm run down to her arms from her shoulder, and South Korea realizes that shade of red in horror. Her wound is identical to his, she's suffering the same pain as North.

(red everywhere. blood is flowing and bones are shattering.)

Her head is heavy, her feet refuse to listen to her order. Blood trickling down. It hurts.

And her heart hurts too. Terribly.

Her mind is shut out from her body (it's less painful that way), and no solution is made. It's just her and North's dark, bottomless eyes.

(again)

North is raising his gun, pointing at her, and South can't move, wondering if it's her end.

Her cheek hurts from trying to smile.

(North loves her smile, so does _him, _though none of them says it out loud.)

(breathe in, breathe out, lips tugging - the act of smile is simple, right?)

But then warmth and light pervade her, hands close around her waist, a body pull her close, a murmur of 'I've got you', a light kiss in her hair. As comfort and love and warm flood in her, the blood disappears, North's eyes disappear and the dark retreats. She can see it free North too, before everything is so bright that she has to shut one eye.

Everything is good.

* * *

Hong Kong holds her in his arms, no word of comforting escapes from his mouth, no tender gestures with his hands. He just holds her close, still and silent, waits until she stops shaking, until her breathing is even again. Because despite herself, she likes it best - someone to be there for her, someone to provide her solace, someone who knows her better than herself, someone who doesn't judge her.

When she wakes up, she will thank him for everything. She'll thank him with a more genuine smile. He knows she will. Because it's the way everything goes. She says, he's the knight that gets her out of her nightmare.

(_Knightmare, ah, this is invented in Korea, you can't argue with me!)_

(He automatically corrects her spelling.)

* * *

**notes: please please please review.**

**feel free to give any pairings. **


	52. Accident

**disclaimer: **Nothing is mine. Just having fun, making noise, and imagining.

this is for **Guest, **who requested Nyo!England and Germany and FLUFF! Oh, you just know my weakness, but CHALLENGE ACCEPTED! I WILL NEVER BACK DOWN.

Even though I don't really ship them.

Is that considered to be fluff?

Good news: Computer fixed. Bad news: Data is bloody gone.

* * *

Sometimes, Germany has to question England's sanity.

(Who's he kidding? It's the one who raised America, who slaughtered Spanish Armada, who made China bow his head, who struggled and fought and conquered a third a world, who claimed to know magic, _that _kind of magic. Such a woman can't be normal, can she? Not to mention that she wears pigtails for the sake of acting ladylike while she can kill you with a punch)

"What are you doing?" Germany asks, staring in disbelief at the woman above him, floating on the air, mediatating, pigtails are down and long stream of blond hair flying all over the place. He's trying to keep his voice even in order not to attract unwanted attention because he's now standing in the doorway of meeting room and regretting coming so earlier.

As expected, she startles and does a double take on the air - he doesn't see anything under that skirt! - her face flushes red: "Wh - Why are you here?"

"In case you don't notice, the meeting will start in 30 minutes."

"It - It's an accidental magic! I came here early because Wales pisssed me off and my magic just -!" Honestly, she expects him to believe that reason, which is clearly made up with Harry Potter references.

"It only happens when you're young. England, come down here, you're weightless and -"

Of course she notices that he can look up at under of her skirt and she shrieks:

"You bloody perv -"

A bolt of violet light appears, aiming at him, he easily steps aside to avoid the attack. The consequence is that she loses her balance on the air and yelps in surprise.

"Look out!" He reaches in a blind flash of intuition, runs towards her, arms outstretched and manages to catch her in time. The only thing he doesn't predict is that she weights a lot than she looks (don't ever tell her that), and he staggers on his feet and they both fall down to the ground.

England groans as her head hits the cold floor. Damn that German, always does what he can't. She flutters her eyelashes, only to have her eyes widen upon realizing that his face is really really near to her own and his face is in a deep shade of red.

Prussia chooses that moment to step in (both Germany and England decide that fate must really detest their existence.): "Hey West, sorry for the morning - Oops, I hope I didn't interrupt something." And that prat (in England's opinion) closes the door.

Germany groans at the prospect of having to explaining everything to his brother, and, of course, America.

* * *

**author note: please review.**

**Feel free to request pairing.**


	53. Forgotten

**disclaimer: **nothing is mine, especially Belarus's knives, or Lithuania's gun and sword.

**notes: **it's late because I'm sick and writing Belarus is difficult and America distracts me.

my headcanon about Nyo!Belarus and Nyo!Lithuania? (Or even worse, Belarus and Lithuania) I must confess: nothing, absolute nothing. So I'd like to hear yours.

it's for **Ah Troublesome.** What a dearie she is. I'm sorry for the length and the lack of romance that always appears.

* * *

He supposes he notices her because she's the one that easily makes herself forgotten. Which kind of doesn't make sense, but you know what? He's Belarus and nothing makes sense to him - and to be honest, he doesn't give a damn. He's the one who loves his sister in the way that no little brother should, who gets rid of everyone that dare get in her way or step near her within three miles with the exception of Ukraine (that's why he loathes America with all his heart - it'd be infinitely satisfying if he could thrust his knives into that idiot's throat.)

And then she's Lithuania (remember the Grand Duchy of Lithuania? She used to be largest country during 14th century. Used to. Past tense. Not anymore) with smile and serious air and the will of iron, who seems pretty boring right up until you realise that she's got you backed to the ground with her sword at your throat. In Soviet Union, she's the only one besides Russia that can gain his respect. Just a little, but no, he has no intention of telling her that. In all honesty, she looks so small, so thin - even when she's squaring up to four enormous guys, a cold furiosity in her eyes.

"You'd better apologise for what you did to the boy." She threatens, and Belarus hesitates around the corner because, honestly, she looks downright terrifying with her gun. Hold on a sec - she's pointing a gun at his citizen? In a narrow corner of the street? "Otherwise, you'd regret being born."

"What're you going to do, girly?" One of the guy speaks up. "You can't seriously shoot us." She raises an eyebrow as if to say 'Try me' and Belarus refuses to acknowledge that idiot as his people. About five seconds, that idiot is on the ground (of course he hasn't been shot yet, just knocked out.) and she regards the remaining three with a superior gaze. Belarus, without a second thought, steps out of the shadow and stands behind her, ignores her look of astonishment, and those stupid pigs take a good look at his twisting knives before dragging their stupidest of them and running off.

Lithuania turns to him, and he can guess the words that she will say (thank you for your help, Belarus) so he just opens his mouth first:

"I'm merely keeping you from causing a bloody sight in my country."

She looks startled for a moment before allowing a small laugh to escape from her mouth:

"I know, I didn't intend to do that. I just came to give you some papers."

Always gets on the business, that Lithuania. He simply gives him a nod, pocketting his knife, and walks away. She follows suit.

"Don't get yourself into trouble in my country." He says and decides her smile is too bright for his liking. How can such a woman blends into the background?

* * *

**BONUS ANOTHER VERSION OF THIS CHAPTER - okay, it's my original draft for this chapter. **

It's in winter that they speak to each other for the first time, and she has snow and leaves in her hair and ribbons on her finger - it's also the first time he has seen her without her sword and hair braided properly. He, on the other hand, is his usual black and white outfit, the trim is full of snow and it's getting on his nerves.

She's bringing coffee for someone else and a bundle of paper tucked under her arm. He's looking for somewhere warm and dry to take a break before going to his sister again.

It only takes a collison, hot coffee spilled down him, a rush of, "Oh my, are you alright, Belarus?" and a tired drawl "Watch where you're going next time", for everything to change.

* * *

**notes: **please review.

feel free to give me a pairing.

(current status: working on the chapter about Russia and Canada - and America-centric.)


	54. snow ii

**disclaimer: **I own nothing, that is equally obvious.

For KaijinKyn with the requested pair RusCan, and I decided to write Nyo!Russia because I just love her okay?

and more importantly, i'm sorry for this crappiness of this chapter. I'm not happy with the way this chapter turned out because it was kind of rush and nonsense. I can't believe it's so short.

my headcanon: UNREQUITED! that word is, like, haunting me forever.

* * *

He watches from the window as she dances gracefully around on the ice, long light-blonde hair flies around her, almost blends as one with the white snow and clear ice, and Canada smiles a little. It's the only time that he likes his lack of appearance, because he can just watch and watch without being bothered.

Saying Russia isn't beautiful is like saying America is modest, it just doesn't happen. She's the girl that knows snow better than anyone else, that is like snow itself, will definitely melt into water, forever trickling from (his) fingers. No one (he) can be able to keep her there, safe and sound (and she never needs it, anyway, because she's Russia and Russia doesn't need protection.)

(What's about Anya?)

Kumajirou nudges his legs and Canada pats the bear's head before standing up to feed it. He will not go out inside and skate with her, and he will spin as many minutes as he can just watch and watch. She's so beautiful in the snow that it will be like a crime if he comes out and somehow messes up the whole image. Maybe one day she'll realize and be the one who call to him.

But she never crosses the border and he's too afraid to do it. So instead he merely watches and tricks himself into believing he's perfectly content with that.

(she's Russia, the snow girl, miles out of your league)

(What's about Anya?)

* * *

**notes: "What's about Anya?" We don't know, Matthew, we don't know. (and i don't think i'm giving you hopes.)**

**please review.**

**feel free to give me pairings.**


	55. Cake

**disclaimer: **i own nothing, even the castella.

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LITTLE CHRYSANTHEMUM! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, KIKU!**

why did I make a chapter about them? Because I like them too much!

another attempt at fluff. hopefully it's alright.

* * *

It's raining heavily, attacking the garden outside (Japan sighs wistfully at the thought), thundering and about three thirty in the morning when Alice Kirkland, known better as England, knocks on the door of Japan's house without her coat.

"Japan, it's England!"

He can hear the impatience in her voice - Japan knows better than test her - so he pushes the cover off him (he regrets it immediately) and heads to his door, swinging it open with more force than he's intended. Greeting him is the sight of England in the rain, without coat and hugging something clearly to her chest. The box isn't big enough to hide the fact that the water has made her shirt almost entirely see - he shakes his head before he can get too distracted. This must be a visit that she's decided to make on a whim.

"Please come inside, you're drenched."

"Oh." She doesn't seem to mind, which is exactly the problem. "It suddenly rained when I got there, I didn't bring my umbrella."

He leads her to the living room, ignoring her protest that his house will get wet:

"I'll bring you something to dry -"

"Hold on a second." She grabs his arms, he turns and she awkwarkly lets go. "I ... I have something to show you." She raises the box to his face and Japan barely makes out that it's a cake.

"Excuse me." Even though asking her will not be so safe, but staring at it too long will give her another idea, no doubt. "But what kinds of cake did you make, England-san?"

She looks happy at this. "It's castella!" Japan can't believe that he didn't realize his own country food.

"England-san, it's..."

"It tastes just fine." Great, now she's glaring at him. "It's not burnt entirely!" And her voice drops. "I did it because Portugal introduces it to you, and it's less embarrassing to ask him... Taiwan also helps, because she knows how you like it." That explains why the frosting is pink. "Mainly Portugal, though, so blame him if everything went wrong. But honestly, it's merely an accident. And it's not because pink means unconditional love that I use it, that frosting is the only thing in supermarket -"

He holds up his hands, offers her a reassuring smile.

"I get you, England-san. But why did you bring it to me so early?" He decides not to make any more comment about how it burnt.

England brightens immediately at this. "It explains why on the post-it-note."

"I'm sorry, I can't see it."

"It's on the wrapper, and it's facing me."

"England-san..." She's wet and her shirt is wet and it certainly doesn't help (now it sounds so wrong on many levels.)

"I just need to tell you something before I let you see it, so just hear me out, okay?"

Japan sighs, "Just let me take something for you to dry." She nods and when he comes back she's sit on a wooden chair, the cake box on the table and still not facing him. She closes her eyes, inhaling sharply before taking the towel from his hand and it isn't the first time Japan has to wonder why she's so nervous. (His trusty towel has done a good job at hiding her, her front.)

She looks at down at her hands and up at him, green eyes bright and determined as if she's going into a dangerous battlefield and she isn't going to back down.

"I'm in like with you."

Japan clearly doesn't expect something like that. He replies intelligently:

"Hm?"

"I just like you a lot and France talks too much about love that I'm so confused but I like you a lot. I like you the most."

"In_ like_ with me?" He repeats weakly. England-san isn't making anything better for his old, old heart.

She looks down at the floor, nods.

"Okay."

She snaps at it. "I said I like you and all you say is 'Okay'?"

"I'm sorry -"

"Don't bother!"

"I just didn't know what to say?"

"Just..." She softens. "Just accept it already and say you think like that too and we'll live happily."

"England-san. It's not something to be taken lightly, I - and I mean we, the East - only say it when we mean it."

Silence.

For some reason, Japan has the feeling that he's made the worst mistake of his life.

Her voice is small when she places the towel on the table, and she turns her head too fast for him to take a look at her face.

"I get it. Sorry for bothering you. I'm leaving." And she's walking away (in her usual gorgeous walk), out of his house, into the rain.

Hesitantly, Japan takes the cake and bites it, it's blank, as expected, and finally, takes a look at the yellow post-it-not. _I love you._

He does it on a whim - running after her, into the rain, catching her wrist, spinning her around, drawing her flushed again his. She kicks him in the shin - it doesn't hurt a bit. He can smell it clearly, rose and grass and tea perfume in her hair, and suddenly, Japan knows exactly what to say.

"Aishiteru."

She pushes him away, and Japan half-hopes that she will walk away again because the chance only comes once - before throwing her arms around his neck and catches him in an unexpected kiss.

The castella is left forgotten.

* * *

**notes: please review.**

**Feel free to give me the pairing.**

(current status: working on some AUs.

and America-centric chapter.)


	56. Music

**disclaimer: **they're too much for me to handle.

**I ALMOST FORGOT THAT IT'S SPAIN'S BIRTHDAY!**

**Feliz Cumpleaños, Reino de España_ !_**

**notes: **even though it's Spain, I can't help adding the shit called angst. It's supposed to be fluff, damn it. Trust me, I don't even know why.

* * *

Naturally, she finds him in the garden, playing his guitar and singing some sorts of melodies that don't match anything. (It's not like she's looking for him or something, he just leaves the fucking door open and sits there with too much noise, or music, whatever.) And of course, he always notices her coming (he claims he has Romano-radar, which is bullshit, because she's now taller than half of his tomato plants) and flashes her a brilliant smiles under the mixture of green and red. Romano has an urge to punch the daylight out of him, which isn't uncommon at all.

"Hey there, Rina!"

"I told you not to call me that!"

"Why?" He hasn't dropped his smile, the smile that make her heart flutter in all the wrong way and shit, are his eyes sparkling? Aren't they green enough? "That's cute."

"It's not!" She snaps as she plucks a tomato and plops down next to him. (It's not like she wants to sit with him, she has gone a long way and her legs are tired and tomatoes are delicious!) "What's the fucking weird noise you're making earlier?"

"Rina wants to know?"

"Shut up!"

"Actually, I don't really know. I'm just playing." Of course she knows it, so she keeps silent and he happily sings again, strumming some more, the weird melodies bubbling around them, lingering in the wind, in her ears, and the not-so-calm-beating of her heart. The music pours from his fingers, from every inch of his body, - and she's vaguely reminds of those past days when she used to crane her neck and look up at his face, which is forever bright. Maybe she's seeing things, but Romano - she's Italy Romano, she can't let herself be Katarina again (just because he can balance between Spain and Antonio doesn't mean she also can) thinks the music, in some way, is glorious.

(she didn't just think that.)

(okay, but don't ever tell him that.)

And when he's finished, he asks her opinion (just like before): "What do you think of it?"

"You know I have no fucking idea about this!"

"Language, Rina." He chides and her glare intensifies. "Now now, just give me boss your honest thought."

She opens her mouth to say something, probably "I don't know", but he's looking at her with those eyes, green on hazel and Romano (Romano, South Italy, not Katarina) tries her best to think of any cursing words she knows and throw it at him. She doesn't succeed, obviously, and the words escaping from her mouth are:

"Music... overrides the silence."

If it isn't such a waste of a delicious tomato, she'll throw it at his grinning face.

"Excellent, Rina! I know you know! It's the best kind of music!"

"As if I wanted to know!"

But he keeps grinning, his fingers twining with her for a moment, and gone and Romano lets Katarina long for it for a moment before her face turns into a scowl again.

He plays his guitar and she listens, but it's not because she wants to stay. Romano has business with Spain, and she can't come back without getting the job done.

(Katarina is wishing it would never end.)

* * *

**notes: **please review even though it hardly makes sense.

(current status: working on with America - believe me, I call his name in my sleep.)

feel free to drop any pairings.


	57. Not Allowed

**disclaimer: **We have been over this, I believe.

**tags: **france/nyo!england, scotland is actually a protective and cock-blocking brother, he does have a good relationship with france unless it comes to his sister, they're drinking buddies unless it comes to his baby sister, scotland refuses to acknowledge that nyo!england can protect herself from france.

**notes: **school hasn't been kind so I can't fulfill your requests yet.

* * *

"What brings you here, France?" Scotland is trying to keep his voice even, even though his lips are formed into a scowl. It's a common knowledge that he doesn't like to have anyone visit his house early (Especially the one with long blue coat and red pants and blue boots and French accent.)

France is either stupid or just doesn't care (or really really brave, but Scotland has to scoff at himself for even thinking that line), and that _frog _(his sister does have a sense of nickname) flashes him a bright smile, which makes Scotland want to throw the burning cigar in his hands at that shining hair (it'd be a waste, he reasons in his head, though it'll certainly do the world a favor.)

"Oh, good morning, Scotland, I didn't know you're at Angleterre's house." Scotland mentally adds another thing in his unacceptable list: throw random French words in English sentence. "Did you two have bonding time together?"

"It's none of your business."

Scotland's made himself clear that France isn't welcomed, but it seems the intruder doesn't catch it (or chooses to ignore it, whatever - if he doesn't leave, **burning **cigar will greet him.)

"Why not? It'd become my business if Alice cries and wails to me about how mean her brothers treat her -"

Alice never does that, unless France manages to trick her into drinking.

"But I'm here now, so I ask you to leave."

"Scotland, Alex." What's with the human name? "I'm here to see little Angleterre." Scotland narrows his eyes at the roses behind France's back, and his glare intensifies because -

"No." And he does what a good brother does to protect his little sister from pervert dirty old man - steps back inside and slams the door right into France's face. (He ignores France's complaint about his nose being injured, because he can do _worse, _and France should feel lucky because it's Scotland, not Wales who has to suffer low blood pressure every morning.)

Alice steps out - and Scotland is immensely glad because she's just come out of shower - and demands:

"What's with all the noise?"

"Noise? It's just a frog croaking."

* * *

**please review (or I'll sic Scotland on you - England's scones would be another choice.)**

**current status: **

1, america, alfred, america, alfred, america, alfred f jones! Almost finished but forget to save and... you know the story. hopefully finish before tuesday.

2, card verse about austria and nyo!switzerland - half-way through it until my history teacher looks at my draft from behind. no, i got away with that because i've finished my damn essay about Indochina.


	58. Valentine

**disclaimer: **the doubt you still have is seriously beginning to worry me.

**notes:** i decided to write a valentine drabble about my otp, the problem is i have too many otps and then i realize i haven't done star pair for very long time. so here it is.

it might a bit, well, you know, irrational, because i don't have anyone to ask me to be their valentine. oh, whatever, i still receive chocolate from my classmate (actually, I ask him: "It's Valentine and you don't have anything to me?")

**HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! **

* * *

Vietnam thinks they might be dating.

She doesn't say anything about it, though. Knowing America as well as she does (unfortunately, and she's always sort of admired England for it), it can lead to some troublesome and inconvenient talks. The intense looks, the winks, the teasing, the laughter and the invitation to watch movies – they are merely his way to compensate for what he did for her. (She knows that he didn't do anything wrong, it was her choice and his boss that influenced him) She can't let her hope high, she will not give herself some false hopes.

She will not be distracted.

It's during the fourteenth day in February that he takes her arm and lets her out of her house. Vietnam reasons with herself that it's not a date, the day is just a coincidence, and knowing America, he probably pays no mind to the calendar. Maybe he feels like she's working too hard and wants her to relax – yes, it isn't a date.

They go for a walk in the park – somehow it's become his favorite activity whenever he comes to visit (apart from trying to make hamburgers for her and bothering her boss, for some reasons). He tells her things that happen in her country, or what he does when he goes abroad, sometimes about England and Canada. She's learnt to listen carefully.

The bench is too small for them, and Vietnam's reluctant to sit next to America because no matter how she edges to the side, he somehow gets closer. It's kind of comfortable if she does say herself (she tells herself firmly, it's the same kind of comfort around Thailand and Laos and Cambodia, the same kind you feel around family -). She straightens her posture and sits upright, and America stops talking to cast a glance at her.

She offers him an assuring smile.

It will be uneasy if America thinks he's done something wrong.

He has dinner a quiet restaurant, just the kind she likes best, and she uses chopstick to poke him on the hands upon hearing him calling hamburgers. He complains why China and Japan and even she doesn't like his eating habit. She shuts him up with a serious look and says as long as he's in her country, she'll keep him healthy. He looks positively delightful when he spots a man in white with his small elephant – she has to pinch him to keep him from doing something stupid. You don't mess with Thailand and his never faltering smile.

It's just an enjoyable dinner.

He walks her home.

"Lien," He starts seriously, voice strained a little and she has to look up at him. "I… I… Happy Valentine's day."

She gives him an impassive look, tries not to let the sheer alarm, the sheer panic that attacks her heart and reveals itself on her face. She's been working on it for many centuries, it should have worked, except it doesn't and her face heats up anyway.

No, it shouldn't be like that. She can't get her hopes too high.

She makes sure of it. She has to.

But America is already bending down, closing his eyes and brushing his lips over her forehead after gathering all the courage he has – and the warm air of February invades her heart.

She smiles and thinks about how they can work together.

* * *

**current status: working on essays about vietnamese history. honestly, why do I have to work on it every level of education? and it's holiday, damn it.**

**please please review.**


	59. Hero

**disclaimer: **The hero is too complicated for me to handle.

**notes:** this one is a bitch, really, so I'm afraid I didn't quiet come up to my dear's expectation.

for **RandomReader01,** who has been so kind to me and deserve a much better piece than this one.

i'm sorry.

the inspiration is the quote itself.

**warning: **america-centric, rambling at some point, mention of wars, almost non-linear timeline.

* * *

"_Being a hero meant putting the needs of others before your own. Being a hero meant sacrifice."_

_\- The End of Infinity (A Jack Blank Adventure 3), Matt Myklusch. _

* * *

As he watches the sky, America dreams of saving the world.

(except it doesn't need saving)

* * *

"You're breaking yourself."

Pause. Hesitate. Stop.

"You're killing yourself."

Breathe. Inhale. Exhale.

"You're lying to yourself."

Tremble. Shiver. Shake.

"You hate yourself."

A voice sounds so much like his own, a vice grip grabs his shoulder, and he's looking at his own eyes, darker than the deepest ocean.

Shatter.

* * *

America is attending a funeral. People clad in black clothing, heads bow low, disbelief and horror and real, true grief churning behind every sets of eyes. Tears like the ocean, never ending, never slowing. Even the sky is crying. Rain is like a cruel reminder that even in tragedy, the world keeps on turning and spinning, oblivious to the suffering of mankind. But then, only human can cause suffering. He has witnessed many funerals, it shouldn't have been odd, but it is anyway. He feels it weird because when the dead are buried, human will surely move on, but they – the nations – don't. He watches as Vietnam stand wordlessly in front of her president's grave, he's sure that she isn't listening to those speeches, to people waxing poetic about her boss. She stands as a mother who has lost her beloved child, a person who has lost their friend, and keeps silent because she knows the dead can't listen.

America turns his head away.

Their life lasts eternity, so do tragedies.

* * *

There is one citizen in his country that reminds him so much of Vietnam, he wonders if she is a child of who has immigrates to his country in the war. He doesn't remember her name, but he does know she works in kindergarten and decides to name her The Teacher, reading stories to the children, the tales of heroes who sweep in and save the day. America thinks he was like those children once, all excited and happy to hear about them, and England would smile patiently at this and tell him to go to bed with a promise of reading more if he was a good boy. ("A hero is always a good boy," England said, and America believed.) But there is no stories that describe the heroes' life after defeating the enemy, just their happy ever after like with some sorts of princesses or beautiful ladies (then again, most of the heroes in Greek Mythology ended up with tragic endings.) – but what are those actually for? The films don't really help, either, because all of them are about a man in cape who fight bad guys and always win. (For some reasons, the bad guy in his head is never entirely visible, sometimes he thinks that guy is Russia, sometimes he sees his own reflection.)

("Fighting the evil and always winning?" China has laughed at him. "To become the world savior? No, all you get is endless loneliness."

"It's freedom. Limitless freedom." America says, and China snorts.

"Whatever you say, you handsome country.")

Happy ever after isn't the life for hero, he thinks, it's for the ones who are saved, the ones the heroes are willing to sacrifice themselves because no happiness can penetrate a darkness as deep as the despair within their hearts.

Being heroes mean sacrificing.

(and heroes are tragedies in the making.)

* * *

After every war, he has gone to many funerals and watches with weary happiness and wistful sigh as he watches those funerals slowly turn into weddings, those weddings turn into giving birth. It always bring joy when he watches another life has come to the world and he will do his best to ensure them a bright future. More sacrifice, a voice in his head whispers, and it's what hero do. Even though some of them are called the children of war heroes, have to burden the past, he works to give them the best. He's comforted the wound, has healed the sick, has dried both tears of happiness and sadness. He has done many things to feel happy, and he does. (Except it isn't happiness itself. Nations who have live too long have forgotten what it is.) He tries his best to be enveloped in happiness as his people, and during the days he's done a quite good job, but in the night, not so easy. He lives in an empty house, Tony is always under the basement and America, for once, doesn't think the alien can quite understand those feeling, so he never calls. He wakes long before the sun and sits in the chair near the window with a cup of black coffee. He finds a mute joy in watching the sun rise and paint over the horizon in hues of red and gold and cast it lights on the green of grass and leaves. He'll go working after breakfast, and when he doesn't have to work, he thinks he's lost his sense of time. Sometimes he wakes up in the dead of night talks out loud about meaningless things – just to make sure that he isn't numb and has lost the ability to act. If England sees America like that, he will no doubt laugh at him before going into a full parent mode and says that America is lonely, that America is still a boy.

England, he thinks, must know how alone it is to be at the top of the world. He never lets America know the middle, only lets him feel the extremes. Growing up America has been either adored or hated completely, no steady presence, no one to ground him back to reality.

("It's no your war." Sometimes he can hear Vietnam's voice in his head, or is it Korea's? "You of all people should know what it's like to fight against yourself. Do not interfere. You're no hero in this war."

"Stop being naïve." And that is clearly Russia's voice.

Another war. Another conflict.

"There is no such thing as honorable war." His voice.)

It doesn't mean Tony knows nothing, though, because he calls Canada and America is too shocked to say anything as the damn polar bear attacks him.

He tells Canada to come back and his brother fixes him with a cold gaze, violet eyes flash and bright:

"What kind of brother am I if I just leave you there? I will not try to fix you or help you get over it, because it's your business. It's just, Al, you must know I'll always be there."

It's a beat of silence before America offers Canada a smile and says: "Make sure your pet won't bite my head off, bro. The hero is too brilliant to die."

"Please, Al."

* * *

He usually comes to the kindergarten to hear The Teacher tell her kids the tales about heroes, with the understanding of how those stories end the way they do. They are meant to inspire hope that the good always win over the bad and with enough imagination one can picture a happy ever after. No one, especially children, wants to know about a hero who feels burdened and scarred and afraid of himself, wants to think their heroes as human with blood and flesh (he is human, America likes to think, not entirely, but human nonetheless.). No one wants to think their heroes are just like themselves, easily tired and weary and with the constant thought of giving up.

It's such a simple fact that no one wants to mention. They want to say that hopes are always present. There will come a time when a new hero is born and needed and he will have to bear that ungodly weight on his shoulder without being able to say anything. And when he finishes the task, he'll never be able to live the same life as before and settle themselves down with watching life from the shadow. They never say anything, because being heroes means sacrificing and not getting nothing in return. Those heroes, America know, do not get their happy endings.

But -

They're still alive.

Everyone loves them and as hard as it is, the hero will slowly learn to love them back.

It takes time, but it's worth in the end.

Because what does a hero sacrifice for but a better world, a better future?

* * *

Never lose hope.

* * *

**notes: **please review because nothing has ever damaged my brain as much as that one. thank you!


	60. Difficult

**disclaimer: **It'd be nice if we could get over it.

**February 16th, **the date of Lithuania's declaration of independence from Russia, and his birthday. MY BOY, **Sveikinu gimtadienio proga!** (Is the correct way to say "Happy Birthday in Lithuanian?)

The name for Nyo!Poland is Felicja, which has the same meaning as Feliks in Poland: "happy" and "lucky."

She is, like, Liet's lucky girl. AND LIET MY BOY YOU'RE THE LUCKY GUY.

* * *

She has been poking his cheeks for a good five minutes and he doesn't even look up from his book.

"To-ris!" She says petulantly, breaking his name to show her full displeasure at his reaction, and all he does is lift his finger and turn a page. Bookworm, she thinks, too hard working for his own good and at the, like, totally wrong time. "Come on, Toris, Laurinaitis, you're supposed to be helping me with my Biology homework."

"No." Even the use of his full name has no effect. "I won't let you copy my homework."

"Who said anything about copying yours? You can't, like, accuse me of something I don't do."

"Then, what do you want -?" He closes his book, finally finally turning to face her, and Felicja smiles broadly and plonks her biology textbook in front of him, poking her pen into his cheek for good measure before shoving all of them too him not-so-gently.

"I won't copy your homework, Toris." She says, fluttering her eyelashes at him. "I won't accept no as an answer."

"Why am I friend with you, Felicja?" Toris sighs, inquires rhetorically. _Best friend. _She adds silently into his comment.

"Because I am, like, totally pretty and amazing and clever." She replies without hesitatance, and Toris gives it up with a sigh and a small smile, before his eyes turn to the table far from the left, where Ivan Braginsky and his sister, Natalya is sitting. Natalya looks terribly pleased at herself, either she doesn't realize or chooses to ignore Ivan's discomfort. Toris looks at that girl with a stupid smile and his face and Felicja sighs dramatically. "Toris, my _friend, _you're, like, totally whipped."

"Please, Felicja."

"I know one is whipped the moment I see them. Now, need any love advice?" She winks at him and Toris flushes, _so cute, _she thinks. "Don't worry about failure, I'm your lucky girl, remember? I, like, bring luck everywhere I go."

"Can we just focus on your Biology homework?"

"Of course I can. But I'm not sure about you. It'd be a big problem if your eyes, like, helplessly slipped back at her and messed up my textbook." Felicja says, looking at the mirror in her hands and wonders what will happen if she throws it at Natalya's head. That girl surely knows how to make a fuss, maybe she will hunt Felicja down with the knife she seems to take out from nowhere. It'd become a life if Felicja said she isn't scared.

"Please, you've already make things difficult." Of course Toris doesn't know about that thought, so she assumes that he's talking about her forcing him to do her homework.

(He isn't. And she doesn't need to know things would be easier if she didn't sit too close. Toris knows nothing about it, neither does she.)

* * *

**notes: **please review.

after a long chapter, I return with short chapter and what the hell why do all chapter with my favorite boy is so short I don't even know why! and it's his birthday damn it and I still can't write longer.

the explanation for this chapter is: "Liet thinks he likes Belarus because she's so pretty while actually he has feeling for his best friend, his lucky girl but he doesn't know. and Nyo!Poland thinks he likes Belarus and she keeps her jealousy well."

i know i suck. well, long author note is long.

feel free to give me pairing, but you have to wait.


	61. Morning

**disclaimer: **Don't own whatever that you recognize.

it's is for **Guest-san, **who even asks me to make sure Romano will have some fun. AND LOOK AT WHAT I DID. ALL HE DID WAS USING HIS MAFIA SKILL.

I know I suck at writing gen-fic.

* * *

Some noises penetrate his dream. Cautiously, Japan peeks out at the blurry world, trying to take in what's happening.

The familiar surroundings of his house are still around him, appearing very real, so he isn't kidnapped. There is, however, something out of place.

Someone, actually, is doing something to his room.

Hold on –

Some one. In his room. And Pochi doesn't react.

"Italy-san!" Japan yells. "What're you doing in my room?" It is invasion to his personal space! Low blood sugar isn't helping at all as Italy grins at him, too bright for Japan's liking:

"Ah, Japan is awake!"

Japan curses the inconvenience of his old age, sitting up despite the dizzying rush of blood and repeats the question:

"What're you doing?"

"I'm vacuuming, of course."

A small pause.

"Italy-san, why are you -?"

Italy just laughs and keeps on vacuuming, Pochi even passionately nuzzles his legs.

Refraining himself from stuffing his ears to prevent the noises, he massages his temples in circles. When that fails to render the relief, he reaches for the cord to unplug the course of this interruption. Unfortunately for him, though, someone chooses that moment to jump into him – and now he can understand China's feeling perfectly when Hong Kong kicks him in his sleep.

"Rise and shine, Japan!"

"Prussia-san!" Japan manages to choke out.

"Kesese! Wake up and enjoy the awesome morning!"

"Brother, Japan can't breathe!" Japan makes out the figure of Germany at the door. "I'm sorry Japan, I can't stop him –"

"It's alright, Germany-san." Japan smiles.

"Oh, forget my not awesome brother, Japan, why is it so difficult to get in your house?"

Japan opens his mouth to ask the question -

"Ah, I finish cleaning!" Italy exclaims.

"May I ask why did you do it again?" _Take a deep breath, control yourself, Japan. _"And how can all of you get in there?" He shoots a disapproving glance at Pochi.

"Oh, it was easy! You didn't look good at the meeting, so we came to see if you were alright –"

"It was my awesome idea!" Prussia proudly says.

"I just tagged along." Germany defends himself.

"It's weird really, because we can't open the door, so fratello broke in. It was cool, fratello is always good at this. By the way, he's in the kitchen." Oh no – "Don't worry, fratello is a good cook. He just likes brother Spain's cooking too much to cook on his own." He says, shutting off the vacuum.

"Shut up, you stupid brother!" As if on cue, Romano's voice echoes in the house, making Pochi jump. "Damn you, you evil cat!" Japan hopes with all his heart that it isn't Tama.

Note to self: Tell Tokyo to improve the lock of your house. Must be the kind that no mafia can solve.

Romano comes in, which is a weird image. He's wearing apron, bring a tray with - pasta. Of course, Japan doesn't think he can cook soba, either.

"Oh, soba bastard." He says, and Japan notices he's using one hand to balance the tray, his other hand is dragging -

"Tama!" Japan almost jumps out of his blanket, just to feel the dizzy feeling.

Italy comes to rescue:

"Fratello, you shouldn't treat the poor thing like that!"

"That damn cat interrupts me while I'm cooking, and it's a fucking crime."

"I'm sorry." The pasta smells delicious enough, Japan thinks. Just… how can he throw them out of his house? He needs time to get ready, and it's really embarrassing if he freezes in front of them just to control his blood pressure. And his back hurts.

"You'd better be. Now, I don't care whoever will fucking eat it, but you'd better appreciate my cooking. I'll go get some more. Keep an eye on your damn cat." And Romano storms out of the room, muttering something about 'stupidity is contagious.'

"Eh, fratello, you make more? Can you give me -?"

"No, make you damn pasta on your own!"

Germany, the ever understanding one, offers: "We can go now, Japan, if you need rest. Italy, didn't you say you wanted to go sightseeing?"

"Yes, I remember that! Then we should go! Japan, we'll come back later!"

Good. Do that, Germany-san, Italy-san.

"Then I'll stay with Japan, just enjoy your date, West." Prussia offers, with an annoying grin.

"Is not." Germany snaps, and Prussia snickers.

"Whatever you say, West."

Japan flops over, burying his face in the futon. His only reply is a muffled, "Ugh!"

Pochi wags his tail. Somewhere in his house, Romano curses due to the lack of tomatoes.

* * *

**author note: **please review.


	62. Attack

**disclaimer: **never mind. it's sad, isn't it?

**notes:** i have trouble keeping their personality in check.

for FallenAngelWings, and i'm sorry for not making them an official couple, they're starting to be a couple.

but at least it isn't some unrequited love, i think i did that part. and what's better than start a new year with my favorite couple?

**HAPPY LUNAR NEW YEAR, EVERYONE! **

* * *

She slams her hands on the table next to him (don't they hurt, he wonders), loudly and without any regard for those busy studying (unlike her) in the library around them. The librarian shoots them a disapproving glare, but Julchen is too busy minding her business to pay any attention. Okay, he admits, her glowering is really scary, but he composes himself and looks up at her with calm eyes. She drops herself into the seat next to him, taking his one of his textbook - as if that trick can do, he refuses to give in whatever she wants, the worst thing she can do is tear his textbook into pieces and he has to buy a new one.

So, Daniel lifts his chin in defiance.

"Daniel Héderváry." She hisses – have her eyes just flashed red? It isn't a good sign.

"I'm not going to apologise." He says. "I'm not taking it back, either."

"I didn't ask you to." She replies, but he isn't easily fooled. Even if he weren't Julchen's friends for almost eighteen years, he would still know that she's not been glaring at him for ten hours for no reason. Are her eyes not tired? Glaring at someone isn't so awes – great, now her vocabulary is affecting him. Still, he won't regret it, whatever she says. He isn't going to pretend. He gives her that look that tells her so – he knows she can read that – and looks back down to his book. Library's property, safe choice, good job, Daniel.

As usual, Julchen surprises him with her choice of words.

"You attacked me, like I'd let you go away with it. It wasn't cool of you, you know?"

"Please, Julia." Her eyes flash, no imagination this time, at the call of her actually name (which is too girly for her liking). "I kissed you. It wasn't an attack. There was no frying pan."

"Your lame frying pan doesn't seem so bad now!" She cries, and jerks her head close to his, and he professionally avoids the attack of his textbook. Her hair falls out from the knot that she's had so many difficulties pulling back earlier. Personally, Daniel likes her hair down (and it's too wild, too long to be tied up.), when the strands frame her face, long and white. His fingers itch. It isn't a wise option to touch her hair now, to weave through it like yesterday, when all she wants to do is giving him a good punch. Getting himself into this trouble in the first place, hasn't he?

No, Daniel reminds himself, it's not trouble. It's declaration.

The one who is getting into trouble is Julchen.

He leans in closer, their face merely few centimetres apart:

"I'm starting to think you want me to do it again."

Julchen raises her eyebrow, doesn't move an inch.

"It's a serious threat." Daniel continues. "I'm going to do it."

She's going to run away, he thinks. That's why he walked away yesterday, he doesn't want to see her run.

She shots him an annoyed glare and instead of giving him a kick and runs away, she does one thing that he least expects. She leans in before he can react and closes her mouth over his.

"If you don't ask me out right now, flower boy, " She threatens, but the nickname and the blush make it rather weak. "I'm going to hit you. Not with that not so awesome frying pan, but with my punch. Raw violence, you got that?"

Daniel wonders for the umpteenth what he sees in this woman.

* * *

**notes: **please review.

current goal: fulfill the request for more Nyo!England and Germany.

the truth: got distracted by amechu.

feel free to send me pairings.


	63. Light Switch

**disclaimer: **We have got over it. Don't remind me anymore.

**notes:** all dialogue, Germany being OOCs. Don't expect sense in this chapter. I'm in a mood today because of Lunar New Year.

Yes, blame the break.

because **Lady Bec of Imagineland** thinks I should do more Germany/Nyo!England, I promise a serious chapter in the future.

this chapter is completely to laugh.

* * *

"Ahh! What the bloody hell has just happened?"

"The power went out."

"Thanks for stating the obvious, genius."

"England, you're the one who asked the question."

"But it's your country, Germany, surely you have provide enough electricity!"

"Not always. Saving is necessary sometimes."

"You sound like Switzerland."

"He's my brother, in one way or another. I mean, the descendent of Germania."

"Don't care. I want to go home."

"Careful with my furniture, though."

"Thank you, Germany, you're five seconds to late."

"You came in when the light is one, I think it wouldn't be necessary to point that out. Clearly, you didn't remember."

"You can't expect me to remember where you put your table in your house! It's Prussia's job!"

"Did you just flip the light switch?"

"Yes, shut up. It… It isn't working?"

"I tell you that the power is off. Flipping the switch isn't going to change that."

"I was just checking."

"Sure."

"It must be the lack of tea. I normally didn't act like that."

"Don't blame it on the tea, England."

"It's because your tea is terrible."

"My country is known for beer, isn't it?"

"Prussia has raised you wrong. It isn't the way to talk to your… senior."

"You're the one who flipped the light switch, and walked into the table."

"Is it my fault that your damn table is put in that place?"

"You're sounding like South Italy."

"Don't."

"Hm. This had never happened until your turn. Maybe you should leave so that I can check it."

"Are you implying that I'm cursing your house?"

"I don't know."

"I'll show you cursing!"

"Why don't you leave and book a hotel room?"

"Your sister invited me, remember?"

…

"Okay."

"No, it isn't! I'm leaving."

"England -"

"WHAT?"

"I have a door."

"YOU BRAT!"

"Your reaction is… rather comical."

"You spend too much time with Japan!"

* * *

**_notes: feel free to request pairing._**

**_tomorrow might be Nyo!Belgium and Nyo!Netherlands, I think. _**


	64. Hideous

**disclaimer: **I own nothing that you recognise here. Sad thing, sad thing.

**warning: **established incest from head to toe. if it bothers you in anyway, do not read this chapter and wait for the next one. if you read it regardless then please don't comment anything rude.

**notes:** for the **Guest. **I hope it's the true pairing you want and I'm sorry that it's short.

why incest? why not? I even write Iceland/Nyo!Norway, so it's nothing.

* * *

"I'm ugly." She says, pursing her lips for a moment as Belgium trails his fingers along the curve of her collarbone. "Hideous." She adds and Belgium is so close that she can feel his hot breath over her cheek. Her hand winds around her brother's wrist, pulling him closer and closer until his lips are pressed at the corner of her eyes. They're electricity. "I'm hideous."

Belgium's face betrays no emotion. And he threads his hand through her hair, winding the blond strand around his fingers before letting it go. He likes it when her hair is a bit curly. He likes it when they're close so he can see the darker green outline of her green eyes. His hand moves from her hair to her forehead, lightly touching the scar. A shiver runs up to her spine; she looks up at her brother whose beauty is too bright even from this angle and repeats:

"I am hideous."

And then,"No." He corrects, brushing the hair on her forehead, his voice is barely louder than a whisper. "You are beautiful."

Netherlands almost lets herself believe him.

* * *

**notes: feel free to give your pairing._  
_**


	65. Beyond

**disclaimer: **i do not own anything, from Hetalia to the poem.

**warning: possible OOCs, grammar problems.**

**notes: **I am, like, totally new to the whole card-verse AU. That's why I have to read a lot and this comes out late. And I still think I haven't done this pairing justice. Edelweiss pair cardverse needs more love. I don't really know about this, but in my headcanon, Nyo!Switzerland is calmer and more easier than her male counterpart. She likes reading and peace.

i also have written this for - five times? six times? and everything it turns out totally different.

and where the hell is happy ending? Nah, you'll all hate me after reading this one.

but -

**Forest of Snowflake Blossoms, **you're the one who gave me the idea, the pairing, the prompt and it's AU you wanted to read, so I hope I satisfy you.

* * *

_And when the words have come and gone_  
_My love will linger on for you_

_\- Just A Love Song, Walter Murphy._

* * *

When she looks at him with emerald eyes and golden hair glittering diamonds, he thinks she's beautiful.

* * *

Throwing her hair back, she casts her eyes to the sky, dark and cloudy above her. It's always nice to see that sort of sight, because everything in the Kingdom of Diamonds always sparkle and sparkle, too much light for her eyes. The wind blows her hair and she frowns.

How dare that idiot not remember her?

Jack of Clubs, her sister (it's strange to call her Queen) has said, but Adelheid knows that guy so she doesn't pay attention much. She remembers what he is like, all neat and formal clothes and likes to revel in the jumble of words in his mouth, spilling out in a rush and tumbling effortlessly over each other. Besides, she's too busy wondering what the King of Clubs wants with them. Of course they're the richest Kingdom, but he's always been more close to the Kingdom of Hearts and never got along with the Kingdom of Spades, whom Francis always favors for some reasons.

So, all she says to Erika.

"I know."

And he introduces himself as "Roderich Edelstein, Jack of Clubs" and asks for her name.

He asks for her name.

She catches Francis's eyes before losing her control and beating the daylight out of him, so she settles with her usual unpleasant expression: "Adelheid Zwingli, Jack of Diamonds."

She doesn't look to see if his eyes show any remembrance.

* * *

He meets her again in the library and finds it strange. She never strikes him as a reading type, more like a military girl with an air of "I don't care what you say" (to be honest, it's the thing he likes best about her). Francis has appointed her as his instructor in the palace but she disappears the moment he turns to her for help. Fortunately, a servant sees him lost and shows him the way. Everything about this palace screams diamond, and every corridor looks the same, how can the people remember the way?

Another thing is that she's found the table with a perfect view of the city, the one that he sort of wants, too.

He clears his throat (the perfume of edelweiss and alpenrose is all over the place and it's from her):

"May I sit there?"

The answer is immediate: "No."

"Miss Zwingli." He says patiently. "The seat opposite to you is the only one available."

She wrinkles her nose in annoyance and he sees absolute no resemblance with the Queen in her.

"Fine. Remember to keep silent."

He's half-expected a "Then get out here'' from her, but then -

She's the Jack of Diamonds and knows perfectly how to keep her country's reputation.

(her eyes flicker up to look at him whenever she thinks he's too absorbed in his book.)

* * *

The next time she sees him in the library with her in the weekends, she decides that he is, in fact, stalking her.

"Haven't you finished your business yet?" She asks, and he looks at her in surprise because Adelheid is never the first to start a conversation, but she pays him no mind. She only wants to know when he will get the hell out of her homeland, come back to his and never appear in front of her again.

"The King hasn't been finished considering our offer." He replies. "As his advisor, I'd think you would have the answer to me soon."

"It's you who ask for a treaty." She says, remembering knowing nothing about it. Damn you Francis. "No treaty can last forever, that's why I've been telling his Royal Majesty to stay neutral. But he doesn't listen, and other kingdoms pay no mind."

"Actually, it's for peace -"

"I know your favorite way of settle an alliance." She scowls. "That doesn't last forever, either. It isn't like the bonds between King and Queen."

"Why don't you ask why we propose the alliance? I know you know that Clubs and Spades have never got along."

"Do you think I care?" She scoffs, before turning back to the book, eyes burning into those pages.

_Why, _he wants to ask, _must you be so challenging? _But the words that usually come out naturally are stuck somewhere between his eyes and as she glances up, eyebrow raising, words seem hardly enough.

(No words that he's read, heard and dreamt of can describe her, he thinks as she stands up and takes her leave, that woman like the sun racing across the sky, with her _doyouremember _look that her eyes compel out of him.)

* * *

"I won't let you spend time with that idiot again." Adelheid says decisively as she's sitting across Erika. "Francis is bad enough."

"His Royal Majesty respects me, sister." Erika says softly. "And about Mister Edelstein…"

"I don't talk about that. I mean, the way your phrase things, you make everything almost sound poetic. It's like Francis's flourish words with women!" _And like that idiot's music. _

"But poems are lovely." Erika flushes. "And the poets are talented."

"E. E Cummings, Edgar Allen Poe, Shakespeare?"

"You can't deny their talent."

"I don't. But, really, Erika?"

"Shakespeare was a romantic, Arthur said so."

"Great, now Arthur is involved? If Shakespeare was a romantic - is that what you are?"

"Sister, I'm the Queen of Diamonds." Erika says, and Adelheid hates it, really, because the wall between Queen and Jack is like the barrier keeping them apart. Erika's gaze is attentive as she looks at Adelheid, "But sister, everyone has their demand romance."

"I still say you spend too much time with Francis."

"Sister, please, try to get along with Mister Edelstein." Adelheid opens her mouth to protest. "At least stay as a good host."

Adelheid is far from a good host. She's ready to shoot any unwanted guest out of her house. And Roderich, unfortunate for him (or for her, she doesn't know) is at the top of that list.

"I'll try." She doesn't say anything more, not wanting to break the very fragile promise she's just made.

* * *

"It's generous of you to lead me to the street." Roderich says pleasantly.

"Don't get me wrong. I just want you to spend your money by buying something… like a really expensive journal to write your poems and music down."

"No journal can be that expensive."

"The kind with diamond cover isn't just expensive."

She begins to regret the impulse, but Erika's words ring in her head, forcing her to stay calm. It's a mixture of old and new as she makes sure that he isn't lost on the way, her heart fails to stay calm with both the accustomed annoyance and something much more as well. (Maybe it has something to do with Erika's words, she thinks, that's why she's acting nice to him, after all.)

The bookshop is almost stifling with its towering bookshelves spaced only feet apart. Personally, Adelheid thinks that it's because the shelves are so thick. The corridors are too long to her liking, and those bookshelves are damn too tall -

Why is she torturing herself, again?

Roderich takes it as a sanctuary. If possible, she thinks he will nestle herself in some nooks of books and forget entirely about her.

"So?"

"There's no book covered with diamond."

"Yes, very disappointed." And he, obviously, too overwhelmed by the luxury of the damn bookshop. "Francis spends too much money on those kinds of things. Where is the feel of books when everything sparkles so much that it hurts the eyes?"

"That's your King." He shrugs, before comforts himself with the smell of book. "Though I must admit, there are good books. Just… too high for your reach." He looks up.

She growls. "Did you just say what I think you just said?" It's a bit endearing to see her like that, and Roderich looks down at her.

(the truth is: he's overwhelmed by the smell of grass and edelweiss and alpenrose.)

"Can you please wait when I choose books? I'll treat you dinner as a thank."

She still hits him in the shin with her stick, though.

He's surprised to see at the register, back straight and head held high and glaring at him. He half-expects that she'll abandon him for having to wait too long. She's stuffing a book in her bag, and he realizes it.

"Sylvia Plath?" He asks.

"It's for Erika. Apparently, she spends time reading them. At least she doesn't talk about them in my presence."

"Are you sure you don't read them?"

And that's when she snapped.

"Shut up. Didn't you promise me a dinner? If you don't be quick, you will be drenched."

Indeed, the grey clouds are starting to gather above their head.

"We can always buy an umbrella…"

"You pay."

"Really?"

"Yes. And don't expect me to be sorry for keeping you from your precious playing piano time just because the rain stops us."

"Heidi."

"Don't call me that!"

"Where is the restaurant?"

Roderich regrets his choice when she shows him the most famous (and expensive) one.

She smirks victoriously at him and Roderich finds his finger itching for his new journal. (But she doesn't need to know what he's bought one.)

(just write down something, to describe her tiny moment of joy.)

* * *

There is something wrong as she meets him the next day, when Francis says that he's thought about the treaty and agreed. Roderich's shoulders are tense upon hearing that and he doesn't seem to at ease when Francis smiles.

Curiosity gets the better of her as she decides to wait for him in the library, hands absent-mindedly tapping the table. He sweeps past her without a single flicker of recognition, sitting at a table in the corner, far far away from her.

It isn't her problem, really.

That doesn't explain the dull thud of her chest, and annoyance, and anger.

It is nothing big, she thinks.

(Her anger grows when he's talking with a maid - and Adelheid realizes in horror, when does she lower herself to that level?)

* * *

He doesn't appear in the library next day.

She doesn't even wait the next.

* * *

There hasn't been anything between them and Roderich thinks it's a relief. Like she's said, his favorite way to settle a treaty is through marriage.

He can't force her into that.

(it hurts)

There hasn't been anything between them, Adelheid thinks, just some tiny memories of childhood that she doesn't think he remembers.

It's better to end everything now, isn't it?

* * *

The Treaty between Kingdom of Diamonds and Kingdom of Clubs is signed.

He's about to return.

She doesn't know when they will meet again.

* * *

"Alfred will throw a fuss." Francis says. "But Arthur will know better."

"Yao is wise." She says. "He'll know what to do."

"I'm glad that we don't have to use marriage to settle this thing." He continues. "Marrying to a Number would be disrespectful to Mister Edelstein, but I don't want to lose my Jack. Do you think that is selfish?"

"Hardly. I'm glad too." It is half-truth, after all.

She comes to see Roderich off, because it's the only thing she can do.

* * *

There are too much diamonds in her hair, he thinks she's right about how diamond sparkling can hurt the eyes.

He composes himself to look at her, because it's the only thing he can do.

* * *

(She's grown into a fine woman, not a childhood friend who used to punch kids that picked on him. He's grown into a fine man, not a childhood friend who used to smile and promised to be stronger.)

* * *

She walks into the library five minutes late than usual, half-hoping that there is no one else there, never mind the feeling of her stomach upon seeing her table is unoccupied as before he came and messed up everything. No one ever comes near her table and asks for a seat, after all.

There is a piece of paper on the table, and her heart takes a notsolight leap at the sight of the familiar handwriting, the same one that is one the treaty. Subconsciously, she traces over the words, the ink is dry, thankfully, and she tries to take in the meaning. They are so familiar and strange at the same time. "Here we are again and words are hard to find." She shallows hard, it isn't supposed to be like that, Roderich likes books, he has a way with words and –

That doesn't explain anything at all. Those words have no meaning -

And another line below: "we are not what we might be, what we are / outlaw all extrapolation / beyond the interval of now and here." Her hands brush over the author name Sylvia Plath and the realisation hits her.

They are beyond.

(no no, she protests even in her thought, they are in-between.)

She finds herself smiling as she tucks her hair behind her ear as she takes a look at the last line.

"Good at pretending, aren't we?"

(there is something a lot like love in her voice when she says that.)

(somewhere in the space between time and dimensions and his fingers as they move to write those words, she begins to fall in love with him all over again.)

* * *

_New chances. Old love. From Roderich to Adelheid._

* * *

**notes: if you have read it so far, please review. I am, like, totally worn out after doing it, so feedbacks will totally make my day. Review is the only thing I get for my trouble. Give me one and make everything instantly worth it?  
**

**i need to stop sounding like Poland. **

**feel free to give me pairings. **


	66. Denial

**disclaimer: **something brilliantly witty herein inserted to disprove any chances I would have had to trick you into believing in my ownership -

**notes: **i know i'm into them lately. I can't help it.

thank Forest of Snowflake Blossoms for the prompt. Yes, I KNOW THIS IS YOUR FAVORITE PAIRING BECAUSE IT IS TO ME!

* * *

She's in denial, they all say.

Rubbish, she'll answer a little too quickly.

"But you really really like Mister Austria." Hell, even Liechtenstein says it. What have they done to her precious little sister?

"I do not." It's centuries and centuries ago and Switzerland doesn't want to remember.

"I can tell it by the look on your face whenever you see him."

"My face is the way it always is." She replies stubbornly.

"Sister…"

"Besides, we were seperated when we were still kids, I hardly think there is any —-"

"You're blushing." Were it anyone but her sister, Switzerland would definitely kill them, slowly and painfully.

As if on cue, Austria (the death of her) walks into the meeting room, talking about something with Hungary with a ridiculously happy face which makes Switzerland want to hit him really badly.

"Miss Hungary, Mister Austria." Liechtenstein greets them, Hungary (Switzerland dubs her as Mrs. Edelstein before growling at herself. What the hell is she thinking? They're divorced!) responses with a bright smile and Austria nods:

"You two are early Liechtenstein, Switzerland."

"Because my sense of direction is perfect and don't need anyone to —-"

"Miss Hungary, can I talk to you in private? I want to ask you something."

"Sure thing! See you two later, Switzerland, Austria." Switzerland decides she doesn't like the way Hungary sings both of the name. Clearly, Liechtenstein has been spending time too much with Hungary.

There is an awkward silence between them before Austria finally speaks:

"How's it going, Switzerland?"

"Good." Something sounds suspiciously like Liechtenstein's voice inside her head 'Denial' and that's when Switzerland snaps. She stands up, slamming her hand on the table. "Until I see you and your face."

"Switzerland —-"

"They've been talking about us! Even Liech doesn't let me go with it!"

"What're you talking —-?"

"I'm done with all of you. I guess I like you. As in… like, like you."

(there is no way will she utter the word 'love', because it's too much for her to handle, too much for a nation to deal with.)

She takes a moment to feel satisfied at the surprised look on Austria's face. But it doesn't last. Her face turns into an utter horror when Austria smiles with a pleased expression, and _no, why do I have the feeling that I haven't fallen into a trap? It can't work out, it's been centuries and he's married and —-._Something inside her tells that they will, Switzerland only trusts her intuition when it comes to battle. Slowly, he nods. "It's about time. I'm done with it too. I'm sure that I love you."

(clearly, that little boy in her memories has grown up into a fine young man, who is now braver than her.)

"That's good." She finds herself saying in an even tone, which is a good thing because she's Switzerland and she doesn't show any emotion, especially happiness.

Austria doesn't know that rule (or has he known?). Still smiling, he replies: "Do you want to have lunch after the meeting?"

"It's free food." She replies.

Denial is never a fun place to be.

* * *

**notes: **please post a review to tell me what you think.


	67. Stranded

**disclaimer:** I own nothing but my own pitiful butt.

**notes:** when I try to write fluff, it turns angsty. when I overtry, however, they turn crack.

i'm so sorry Matthew baby I don't intent to make you be forgotten by others I'm so sorry. Baby I promise I'll make it up to you someday.

Ivan, stop harassing Amelia, it isn't nice.

.

.

.

On second thought, I think I'll let you do whatever you want. No, you don't need to thank me, Ivan.

for **callmeasinnercallmeasaint**, who request a chapter with Russia.

* * *

England chokes on his tea. "What?" And for the first time in her life, America doesn't find the situation funny at all.

France winks, moving closer to England, wrapping an arm around his shoulder: "You've just heard him. Trapped in a deserted island, isn't that what you said, Russia?"

"LET YOUR FITHTHY HAND OFF ME, YOU FROG!" England makes an attempt to pour his tea on France (after taking a moment to mourn, of course.) before asking Russia accusingly. "What kind of question is that, Russia?" In the background, France complains about his shirt being ruined by English tea.

"It's just a question." Russia says patiently, hands folding in front of himself in a completely comfortable manner. "You don't have to overreact." He glances sideways at America, who looks like she's seriously thinking of the situation. "It's not like we haven't been trapped in an island before."

"It's World War Two, damn it! And it isn't a deserted island! It's Seychelles!"

"Do you know that a deserted island is virtually inhabited by cannibals?" Italy is saying, which isn't helping at all and Germany's mouth is twitching. "And you can hear some weird noises at night. Japan tells me about the myth of homeless ghosts on …"

America's hands frowning too deeply for anyone's own good and Germany shuts Italy's mouth up.

Japan is in concentration as well: "But if we were trapped in a deserted island… I think it'd be because of a ship-sinking."

"What would we be doing on the ship?" England asks.

"We could be…" Japan ponders it for a moment before his eyes lightening up, too bright for England's liking. "We could be on a cruise! Maybe our bosses would see we had been too tired so they would allow us a vacation. Isn't it an excellent idea, England-san?"

"Y… Yes." England splutters. Hold on – Why is he spluttering?

"Well, England, it seems that your plans for honeymoon have been laid out." Russia says cheerfully.

England sends him a glare, face red with anger and embarrasment and Japan exclaims really fast in a very incoherent words of protesting.

"No… no… no!" France waves his fingers. "England knows nothing about cruise. Whenever he's on a ship, he tends to be brutal. Now now, Japan, let me show you true romance -"

"Die, frog!"

"England-san!"

"Eh? Isn't it a nice idea? Germany, will you take me on a cruise someday?"

"Italy!"

"And I don't have to worry about cannibals because Germany will protect me!"

"But Russia just says it as a theory -"

"Who?"

"I'm Canada."

Russia takes a great delight in the situation, however, as his eyes shine with – uhm, happiness can be a choice of words here – as Germany tries to get rid of Italy's ideas of going to an island and Japan tries to prevent England from choking France to death, and then he turns to America, who is surprising quiet from the beginning, and of course, deep in her thoughts.

(though her shoulders are still shaking slightly because of Italy's telling about ghost)

"Penny for your thoughts, America?" He asks.

A twitch of her mouth (she's telling herself to be civil, he can tell it) before responding:

"Well, to answer your unbelievably stupid question –" Oh, she can insult nicely, that's an improvement. "If I were trap into an island, which is never going to happen since I'm a heroine, it'd because you kidnapped me there."

Brilliant, America, brilliant. Russia smiles. "Oh, what an interesting answer. I didn't know you want to be alone with me that badly, America."

And America's patience breaks.

"You communist bastard!"

"He isn't a communist anymore -" Canada tries to voice his opinion, but America goes on and on about what she's going to say:

"You mother -."

"Language, America!"

"- fucker!" She ignores England, too. "I want to be alone with you? YES! Because I'll end you with my own hands! And I WILL SUCCEED! And IF YOU KIDNAPPED ME to that fucking imaginary island, then IT'D BE YOU WHO WANT TO BE ALONE WITH ME!"

Silence.

An eerie silence as America realizes what she's just said.

Russia is very amused. "Yes, imagine that, an evil creature kidnapping a princess" – "heroine, you bastard!" – "to a deserted island. Actually, I wouldn't mind." And now his eyes are shining with merriment, which is a bad sign. "If it were you."

America's cheeks flare as she blushes to the roots of her hair. She points a finger at him, "You… you… you" and seems to forget how her tongue works. Everyone is listening intently. Russia continues, as if oblivious to her anger (or embarassment): "Well then, we can go on a cruise with England and Japan and plan for a shipwrecked."

"Don't say it so casually, Russia!" England cries.

"I DIDN'T HEAR ANYTHING, DAMN IT!"

"Don't worry, dear America, I'll make sure we end up in a different part of the island."

"SHUT UP, BRAGINSKY!"

"Human name basic now? You want to be close to me, Amelia?"

Canada looks at the whole chaos in front of him: "But… will our bosses allow?"

Kumakiwa looks up at him: "Who are you?"

"I'm Canada."

* * *

**notes: **please review.

feel free to drop me any pairing.


	68. Snow iii

**disclaimer: **i can't make it snow and i can't draw... but i can pretend.

**notes: **the usual... after finishing somewhat long chapter, I come back with a short one. SUPER SHORT ONE. I can blame it on the fact that I'm trying with new pairing.

pixiv is a powerful site. I see a drawing of America/Nyo!China and looks at this has done to me!

bad news: I'm sick again - it's the third times in two months, DAMN IT!

* * *

China breathes out fog and clutches her coat tighter around her body while cursing American winter in every dialect she can think of. She's always nagging her siblings about dressing warmly – especially Hong Kong, the boy thinks he can endure the cold just because he spent more than one hundred English weather, which is rubbish – but apparently, she's (always) forgotten to take her own advice. She blames it on old age. And why hasn't that brat appeared? He's making his usual 'fashionably late' into 'ridiculously late'. Her feet are starting to feel numb and China swears to give America a good kick when he comes.

A hand presses on her shoulder, speaking of the devi – America is panting and his hair and his glasses are covered in snow. China grabs the hand on her shoulder and shoves it into the pocket of America's coat.

"Where're your gloves?"

"It seems I've forgotten it."

"You're late and forgot your gloves?"

"I'm actually early. You're just earlier."

America is right, but —-

"I've been always earlier." China says, but America's coat pocket is considerably warm so she can't take her out to swat him. So, after a moment of silence, she kicks him on the shin, head held high and voice smug as he groans in pain. "You must learn to be earlier than me."

* * *

**notes: **please post a review to tell me what you think (I'm hoping for 10X reviews.) With pairing is also alright.


	69. Starry

**disclaimer: No drawing ability, no star, no ownership. That's my lif**e.

I have been wrong about the calendar, Estonia is actually 24th, not 26th... PLEASE FORGIVE ME ESTONIA.

Happy belated birthday to you, Estonia. You should have got more than this if I hadn't been so sick and my hands were shaking badly when I was typing.

* * *

He's resting against a tree right next to her - she does need to take a break too, what with everything about her country and Russia and Belarus – and stares up at the night sky as they've get used to when they spend time together.

"Estonia?" She questions quietly, her normally soft voice seems to echo louder in the darkness. "What do you think the stars represent?"

He ponders this for a moment, from why there are so many girls with starry eyes and takes a liking to them to the conclusion that it's one of the simple _Ukraine _question that she's always asked and expected him (and only him) to give a proper answer.

For an intelligent man, Estonia doesn't really know what to do.

"I'm not sure, Miss Ukraine." He says finally, taking in from her features (short blond hair framed around her face, blue eyes shine under starlight) to the way she's siting (legs crossed and one hand almost touching his). She's staring at the star again, nods her head.

And Estonia realises that he'll never be sure of the right answer when it comes to her.

* * *

**notes: **please review.

current status: start to work on IggyChu. I SHOULD HAVE WRITTEN IT THREE DAYS AGO!


	70. Rain ii

**disclaimer: **do not listen to my friends. I'll ready to take them, though.

for **Krasavitsa** who requests LietBel. Belarus is such a difficult character, to be honest. Hope you like it.

I've said that I have no headcanon for them, haven't I?

* * *

She wrinkles her nose in distaste at the smell of rain. What a way to greet morning, Belarus thinks in annoyance, such a disgusting thing the rain is. It damages everything it touches, it summons the dark cloud and makes her unable to enjoy the sunflowers. And Belarus always ends up being soaked, umbrella or no, from passing cars splashing her dress and her shoes, waters clings to her neck and her hands and her hair. (She doesn't think of cutting her hair, it'll make her look too much like Ukraine for her liking). And it contributes to keeping her from looking for brother. Definitely, it isn't a pleasant feeling.

Lithuania, however, absolutely adores the rain (that's one of the reasons why she hates that idiot.) He claps his hands and smiles brightly upon hearing the sounds of water, opens the window and lets in some of annoying humidity and earthy smell and stares at the fog (probably dreaming) until she scowls and kicks him, telling him to get himself together and go to work. Since when is this damn weather is important than work? Brother will not be pleased if Lithuania slacks off.

(No, she isn't worried.)

At least Lithuania is contented to watch it inside and has enough tendency to apologize to her - why to her, anyway? He should tell it to Brother - before going to do whatever he needs to do. At least that idiot doesn't go out in it, she thinks, it is definitely troublesome if he gets sick because of other reasons than economic problems.

(Again, she isn't worried about him.)

She clicks her tongue in distaste. Such an annoyance, such a distraction. Her eyes slip back to Lithuania for a moment, just to see him smile at the rain again. Instantly, she's reminded of a thousand and one reasons why she hates that guy.

* * *

**notes: **please review.

and keep denying, Bela.


	71. Lion

**disclaimer: **who do you think i am? - wait, that is rhetorical - I don't own Hetalia. But just you wait, some day, some day.

**notes: **i haven't say i ship portugal and macau, therefore I'm saying it now. I almost faint when seeing the amount of fics about them. wish i could write slash.

(this - i'm trying to write portugal.)

portugal always thinks of nyo!macau as his baby girl until she suddenly grows up into a beautiful woman and - Nyo!Macau knows how to keep her head cool and collected, unless it comes to portugal.

thank **Forest of Snowflake Blossoms** for the prompt.

* * *

"What – you – YOU!"

Portugal winces at the volumn of the girl's voice. He doesn'tremember her being that loud when he first took her into his house.

"Macau, calm down, please, it's nothing. I sweer – "

"Nothing?" She looks like she's about to throw the card in her hair at his throat – that thing can cut, mind you. "You ran into a den of LIONS! Fought them! With your bare hands! Where the hell was your weapon? I remembered you brought a gun!"

He doesn't feel the need to tell her that, currently, she looks exactly like a lioness, threatening and roaring at him.

"Well, when you put it like that —-"

"Portugal!" Her voice is sharp and demanding. "If you continue to be an idiot, I will never let you go to Africa again!"

"But Macau —-"

"Now, where do you hurt?"

"I'm fine. I'm the —-" He groans in pain as she touches his arm. "Never mind."

"Yes, don't say anything like I'm the Empire of Portugal, lion can't kill me." Her voice turns softer and she's sniffing and that scares him more than having to face a bunch of lions and lionesses. "It still hurts a lot. Now, sit down." She points at his bed. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere." He admits, and the corner of her eyes turns red. It's a bit endearing, really. "Those lions are vicious."

"Of course they are." She nods, gathering some bandages, rubbing alcohol and cotton ball. "They're not called Kings for nothing. Sit still, I'm going to put these on your wounds."

"It'll heal eventually —-"

"I told you not to say that! You aren't in your country!"

Portugal laughs and regrets it immediately, because the movement shots a feeling of pain through his head. She's absolutely right, as usual. It's a good thing and the worst thing about her, he thinks as he recalls the time when she first arrived and quietly observed everything. Too intelligent.

"I'm sorry." He finally says.

"Now you are?" She tries to scoff at that, except a smile on her face gives her away as she starts to cover his wound. It stings.

It's a good thing that your girl (because he doesn't really know what to think of her) knows a lot about this healing business, Portugal thinks and tries not to move when she's doing her job.

* * *

**notes: please review.**

**i promise to fulfill all request when i'm done with IggyChu. It's proved difficult. **

**i love challenge. **


	72. time

**disclaimer: **I'm too tired to do this line properly. So, please understand that I'm empty-handed.

**notes:** i'm falling apart. this fic is portrayed in a manner that you may or may not understand.

for **Ah Troublesome, **who deserve more than this. I don't even know if I've done your prompt properly.

Starring Nyo!Hong Kong and mention of Nyo!Japan.

**i know i'm a mess.**

**unedited. **

* * *

_And I wish you were right here, right now_  
_It's all good_  
_I wish you would_  
_\- Taylor Swift, I wish you would_

* * *

China hates autumn. She hates the dim lights in the wake of darkness so much earlier than she thinks necessary, hates the soft whispers of wind that are hard to forget because they are louder than they first appear to be. And autumn is too complicated to her liking.

Autumn brings uncertainty - the uncertainty of the way every movement of wind changes so unpredictably, how the weather is neither warm nor cold, how nature decides to turn itself into an indecisive creature that she can't outwit.

There is no time for uncertainty, for losing track of her one dream and her constant, overpowering sense of reality. Uncertainty will bring weak moments, which leads to unwanted feelings, and most of all, memories that China would rather forget.

\- except she's China so she braces it all.

_Come at me. _She tells herself that.

\- and a rose petals fall down to the ground.

xxx

China hates roses, too, especially Tudor rose. Everyone gives roses to the ones they love with three words 'I love you' until they becomes meaningless. She sees no logical reason in collecting and planting those thorny and irritating flowers (they will make a lovely garden, she can give them that) and showcasing all around the offices and houses. She remembers sneezing not so elegantly at the mere smell of roses. However, her most passionate reasoning behind hating the flower is the most irrational of all, which deep down she realizes and even classifies as being ironic.

Because what she hates most about Tudor rose is that it's the floral emblem of England.

It's hard to remember about the past without the opium bastard's popping in.

(- days in forest with Japan

\- days by river with Vietnam

\- days yelling at Korean brothers

\- days bickering with Mongolia

\- days lecturing Macau about gambling

\- it all comes to the days with England and Hong Kong.)

It starts with a green eyes foreigner giving her roses, as red as blood and her clothes, and she slamming her door right to his face.

xxx

"I think roses will match your clothes." He said thoughtfully. "Why do you wear red all the times, though?"

Brat, China restrained herself from telling him so.

"None of your business."

He raised his eyebrows, which was kind of funny to her because his eyebrows looked so heavy, before saying:

"I've heard that your women wear red on their wedding days. You like getting married someday?"

She hit him.

xxx

Maybe it is only her that thinks opium smells like roses, sickeningly sweet and relaxing her muscles and numbing her mind. It was a nice change, she'd thought (so sick of fighting, so sick of emperor, so sick of immortality), with narcotic shattering her thoughts and her worries, giving her a blissful moment of living in the forest, back in those days with her family.

(- days in forest with Japan

\- days by river with Vietnam

\- days yelling at Korean brothers

\- days bickering with Mongolia

\- days lecturing Macau about gambling

\- it all comes to the days with England and Hong Kong.)

She opened her eyes in the middle of night and found herself alone (no green eyes, no golden hair, no gentle smile, no tea). The world around her (not beneath her) was dark and endless, a universe upon her shoulder, a planet spinning out of control. She blinked her eyes, head snapping to reality (no sweet smell, no bamboo forest, no river). Everywhere she looked, she saw blood and bones and the people that fell from grace. She'd heard that before one died, one would see life flash in front of one's eyes.

She died.

And revived.

(- countless times)

And she laughed.

No word - in Chinese or in English - could describe her hatred for him. The more gently he treated her, the more resentful she became.

Strangely, he smelt of autumn, and that didn't help, really.

(really?)

xxx

These sorts of thing always end in disasters.

xxx

"So, you're leaving too." She poured the tea in the cup, giving it to the girl opposite to her. "I'll be on my own from now on."

Hong Kong didn't accept her tea.

"England said he'd stop using drug on your people. You will have time to recover."

_You can rise, like what'd happened after Vietnam and Japan and Taiwan. _She thought Hong Kong was trying to say that, but that girl was never good at expressing her emotions and China didn't press her.

"I appreciate your concern." The words came out colder than China'd thought, but it was difficult to say anything from Hong Kong's expressionless face. "England can take a good care of you."

Something flickered in Hong Kong's eyes before the younger girl spoke:

"It's likely that I will be able to meet Macau. England and Portugal are close friends, after all, do you have anything to tell him?"

Ah yes, young Macau, who would undoubtedly grow up into a fine, polite young man. There was a ghost of a smile behind China's lips as she drank tea:

"Tell him that we'll reunite one day."

This conservation was awkward in many ways, China thought as Hong Kong inhaled sharply. This girl was still so young, so naive, thinking that sacrificing herself would save China. Didn't she realise that she was the one to keep China on the ground, the last family China had?

She came to see Hong Kong off two days after the Treaty of Nanking, shaking her hands with England and smiled:

"Please take good care of her. Don't let her cut her hair like Japan." It was ironic, really, for her to say Japan's name so easily. (It'd be a dozen times as difficult as to say Ja Hua). "She adapt to the new environment easily, just make sure that she doesn't feel uncomfortable -"

"China." He was whispering, her name one of the easiest he could say, slipping off his tone by a second nature as if it was another version of his own name. "I -"

"Can you do it?" Amber eyes were hardened, darkened into a shade of golden.

"I promise."

She smiled, one finger reaches out to caress Hong Kong's hair. She knew how to hit someone harshly without using verbal speech, as her thin finger (had she been that thin?) threaded into her sister's hair.

"Then goodbye."

"China..." England said again, quieter this time because he knew and she knew what he was thinking and he realised that everything he would say to her past this second will be completely pointless. "Goodbye."

She laughed weakly - a terrible sound that crashed his entire being and left him completely numb.

"Don't ever come back again, England."

(he took a glance at her anyway, and wasn't surprised to see her back against him, straight and proud.)

xxx

Roses are too thorny, China thinks as she rearranges the breakfast, they hurt you when you come too near. Healing quickly doesn't make it less hurt.

She always prefers peonies.

xxx

"Do you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to be forgive about."

\- and England couldn't recall China's face or what she looked like when she was faking a smile or how it felt to be refused by her. The only thing he could remember was the echoes of her broken voice shattering around his ears.

_Leave._

xxx

Hong Kong had grown fond of the snow, but China absolutely detested the English weather. The snow fell thick and bright, an earnest shot of white with a bit of a sharp glitter to it that was much clearer to the regular eye than it had been when China saw them in Russia - but maybe it was just the perspective of someone who wanted to be optimistic. Anyone else could call snow dirty and nothing more than a chilly nuisance because they were pessimistic.

China liked to think she belonged to the former group.

At least Hong Kong had enough tendency to hold an umbrella to her. The girl had grown, taller than China, and she had to admit that England did do a good job in taking care of her sister.

China was the first to start talking: "So, how is life in England? Don't tell me about the food, though, I know that is horrible."

There was a brief hint of smile appeared on Hong Kong's face.

"But you could eat it, right? It doesn't matter to me."

China would have paused in her track had she been anyone else. But living for several thousand years did have its advantages.

"Oh, I forgot that. You are even easier to please than me."

"He often tells me that I - I look like you." Why was Hong Kong's voice hesitant. "And he gives me whatever I want. I think he thinks it's one way to make up to what he did to you."

"Did he tell you to tell me that?"

"No." Hong Kong remained unfazed at the sharpness of China's voice. "I think you two have tortured yourselves enough."

"Can we talk about something else?"

"China -"

"How is Macau? I know Portuguese cuisine is better -"

xxx

"China?" England asked, voice coming out strangely disconnected, his true emotions masked even as he gestured Hong Kong to dry herself. (Hong Kong had wetted herself with snow, much to China's displeasure.) "You're leaving already? It's cold outside." He stood up instinctively, was about to take a step towards her before stopping himself abruptly. "At least take your coat - take something."

_Now you're pleading?_

"It's not cold enough." She said blankly, secretly feeling definitely satisfied (wasn't it) upon seeing the pain flash through his green eyes. She ignores Hong Kong, whose eyes seem to be everywhere. "I came without a coat, so I'll leave without one."

"But you hate winter." He said, pulling at a strings that were too thin, too short to grasp. "You hate it -"

"When you've lived as long as me, hating a season seems pretty pointless. And you've got all seasons mixed up." She nearly choked on the little air that left in the room (England's green eyes and Hong Kong's dark ones). "I'll see you later. After Christmas, we expect you to be powerful enough for face the Axis, Great Britain."

It hurt more that it should have.

(to him or to her?)

xxx

Every month, a rose is sent to her, with the three words. "I am sorry."

Every month, she throws it away, or burns it into ashes before turning back to the peonies.

xxx

"You haven't told me why you like to wear red." Curious.

"I've told you that it's none of your business." Annoyed.

"Still -"

"Listen. My wearing red has nothing to do with my wanting to get married. And I've divorced, thank you very much. Does your women wearing white mean that they want to marry?"

"Why are you so defensive?"

"You -"

"I think that the man getting married to you was a lucky guy." Green eyes brightened with mischief. "He saved a lot of money from -"

"Mongolia wouldn't have spent anything even if I had wore black."

"But I am not Mongolia. When I become the lucky guy, I'll buy you everything you want."

"I don't want to marry you."

xxx

There must be a ring in her drawer, China vaguely remembers, maybe she can sell it to the museum or something.

xxx

"Do you still think that I'm beautiful in red?" Mockingly.

"I don't know why we must be on two different sides of a war between two brats." Tiredly.

In his eyes, red never means communism.

In his eyes, red still means one day she'll be a bride, happy and bright.

xxx

If they were just enemies, she could just laugh at his face when he decided to sign the Sino-British Joint Declaration, but she couldn't. The British Empire had fallen, and England looked so defeated and the whole image reminded China of herself that it set her teeth grinding.

"China."

_China. And the foreboding chimming of bells and the smiles that resembled a broken sun and the peonies that refused to die, wishing for spring, for summer, for anything but autumn._

"England." She acknowledged.

_England. And the hopes of a sun that never sets, the glory of an unbeatable force and the vague smell of rose and tea and the feeling that autumn should and can last forever._

"I... I think Hong Kong will be very happy." He cleared his throat, and they both knew that it wasn't what he wanted to talk about. She had the feeling that he said it because this was the only appropriate thing that he could fathom.

"I must thank you as well, for looking after her."

"The British Empire has fallen, and that means the Portuguese can't last much longer. Macau is going to come back to you, congratulation."

Her entire being resented him for not saying what he wanted to say.

Why was it so hard for him to say "I've missed you''?

"Time, England." She finally offered, knowing he'd understand this one word more than any others, the one world that defines them because they've got too much of it that it becomes a curse.

No air in her lung then, so if he didn't say, didn't do anything, she'd -

He looked in her eyes, just looked and looked.

She left.

xxx

"Time." She's heard someone saying and in panic, China's thought it's England - until she catches a glimpse of dark hair and dark eyes and red outfit, Hong Kong.

"What?" She asks, tiredly for lying on the floor too long.

"It's what written on the envelope. It's so tiny that I almost ignore -"

"The rose comes again?"

And China wonders if she paid enough attention, she'd realise that he'd written this word for countless times.

"England sends it again, what will you do now? Burn it?"

Silence.

China sits up, locking eyes with Hong Kong - dark like her own and somehow bright as his - before striding over to take the rose, because there is nothing to afraid of.

"I'm sorry." Those words are still present.

And a tiny handwriting. 'I've missed you.'

As she brushes her fingers over the rose petals, the smell of autumn and rose is still sickeningly sweet.

(nothing like the drug)

* * *

**notes: **i write it, like, 4 in the morning.

please review, anyway.


	73. Haircut

**disclaimer: **until fate decides to make a parody of the current way things are, I own absolute nothing.

**notes:** you know my style, coming back with a pathetically short chapter after a super long one.

for **guest.**

i am sorry for the crappiness of it since I'll never ship them.

or at least it's what I think.

* * *

"On second thought, I don't think I'll let you give me a haircut." America says, before leaping way from the man with the scissors.

"What?" England gives her a glare. "You broke into my house -"

"I walked in." She corrected him automatically.

" - dragging me from my sleep and telling about how you were going to die."

"I was."

"You told me to give your haircut and now you've changed your bloody mind?" He clicks the scissors. "Just come back here and let me cut your hair!"

"I came here because Mattie wasn't home. And you were the first one that I could think of."

"Shut up and -"

"Ah! I've just remembered - France! He knows what to do, doesn't he? He is definitely good at haircutting!"

America thinks she can see steam blasting out of England's ears.

"You won't come near that frog! Just get it over with!"

"No!" She dodges the scissors in time before running towards the door. "See ya later, Iggy!"

"It's 'YOU', and my name is not Iggy!"

* * *

The next day, America is skipping to England's house with her newly cut hair. He doesn't even bother to look up.

"Isn't it nice?" She says, leaning against him and smirking a little when feeling England go stiff. "France is really good. He told me that he cut your hair once -"

"Can you leave me reading in peace?"

Blue eyes blink at him.

"But you are the first one that I show my new hair cut." She says slowly, as if talking to a child. "It's the same when I'm in trouble. Now, isn't it nice?"

England clears his throat awkwardly. "It's acceptable, I guess."

She pouts. "Just say it's nice."

And for some reason, England can't stop staring at her. Must have just been the new change, he thinks.

* * *

**author notes: **a word starts with R. I don't need to tell more, do I? Or better, you should review the previous chapter about IggyChu. I like that.

feel free to send me pairing.


	74. sea

**disclaimer: **nothing is mine save for the hope that one day... maybe one day soon...

**notes: **I have forgotten the Commonwealth day which falls on the second monday of March. Why have I failed myself this way? England is going to forgive me, isn't he?

portugal is the one who gave taiwan her name, so I figure he'll be proud of himself. but i still ship portugal with macau and nothing will change my mind.

for **Guest **who request this! Sorry for the length.

* * *

She's sitting by the seashore, pretty as a picture with long brown hair spilling down her back like sand slipping out of his hands, pink dress like some sort of flower blooming in spring, pretty like the name she's given (_Iiha Formosa, _and he's the one who thought of that name) and he has to wonder —-

"What's a pretty girl like you doing out here by the sea?" Portugal asks, keeping his voice as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the whole picture.

Taiwan turns her head, brown eyes brightens with reflected sunlight and sea light combined together: "I'm thinking?"

"About what?" He presses, honestly curious. If he has to choose a thing about the East, it'll definitely about the unreadable people.

"I don't know." She shakes her head. "Just things… like… what the fish thinks of us. Yes, something like that. Have you ever wondered?"

Portugal raises an eyebrow. "I can't say I have."

"I figure so, what's with you being an empire." She nods, looking at him straight in the eyes, brown into blue. "Even so, there are so many things that we don't know or think of. The sea is always full of mysteries, but we never think about. So, I figure I should spend some time thinking of that."

"Very insightful for a little girl." He teases, and smiles a little when she mutters something about 'I'm not little'. "Mind if I join you?"

She gives him an 'are you serious' look, before scooting over to let him sit next to her, watching the waves crash to the sand and thinking about the things that he has never before.

* * *

**author note: **please review. feel free to give me pairing.


	75. Sister

**disclaimer: **none of it is mine.

**notes: **i can't believe i'm writing them again.

**warnings: **this contains hints of incest. if this bothers you in any way, do not read on. if you read anyway, don't comment something rude or i'll cry over your stupidity .

Wednesday is always too busy for me to write longer. i hate wednesday.

thank **Forest of Snowflake Blossoms** for the prompt. (this is the first prompt you gave to me and I - )

* * *

_Sister._

There has never been such an ugly, terrible word in the world, Iceland thinks as he stares at the DNA result in his hands. He's so glad that Mr. Puffin hasn't followed him. He doesn't want anyone to see his face now. Never in his life has he imagined disappointment can be contained in such two simply syllables. Norway is his sister, and there has never been a worse news, even the economic depression or natural disaster that tears his body and his heart.

In an instant, Norway, who has been so close to be within his grasp, becomes unattainable. His feelings are immoral in the certainly worse way, for both human and nations, and Iceland is perfectly aware. But —- how can he wipe out that feeling? How can he wipe out those eyes that has been following since forever? How can he get rid of all the dark days when she used to sit and protect him at all cost? How can he control his heart when the very thought of her enters his mind?

(Calm down, Iceland, don't think about it, she teaches you better than that —-)

Sisters aren't supposed to make her brother think they're absolutely breathtaking. Sister aren't supposed to merit such feelings from their younger brother. Sister are supposed to guide their brothers with love life —-

Well, just, if he lies about the test, maybe he can create for Norway and identity that doesn't link her with that word, right?

"Ice? What takes you so long?"

Norway calls him from behind, her voice colored with concern. Iceland turns his head back, catching the sight of Denmark winking at Norway (which makes her scowl and throw spoon at his head) before replying:

"I've got results from my DNA test. It says we're related."

(Count down to the doom day, aren't you, boy?)

* * *

**author notes: **so, review?


	76. Heels

**disclaimer: **leave me in peace to cry over this hardship.

**notes:** uhm, Norway and Nyo!Denmark because why the hell not.

* * *

"Don't go to me if your ankle breaks." Norway says, unamused.

"Oh, is that a threat?" Denmark raises her eyebrow.

He places his mug of coffee on the table, frowning at her legs. Denmark's already slightly taller than him, and wearing heels only makes it more noticeable. (Furthermore, it also emphasizes her infinitely long legs and the definition of her toned calves. That, too definitely will cause problems, which is going to give him headache. The Kingdom of Norway doesn't like headaches, thank you very much.) He knows she won't break her ankle and Denmark knows how to walk in heels (of course, to prove to everyone that she can be feminine when she wants to.) but his mind is filled with the prospect of that heel breaking or her feet slipping out or turning inward at the most inconvenient time (which can be anytime, mind you). She'll wince and complain even though it takes exact three seconds to recover (a bit longer if she isn't in the landmass). And Norway will have headache, frankly terrible headache.

"Sneakers." Norway says, finally. "You'd better wear them."

"Oh?" Denmark quirks her lips, standing and drawing herself up to her full height, and those heels - those damn heels - makes her tower over him. Not that she's been like that before, with raw power that breaks anything on her way, the same power that used to make him choke. Still, it doesn't mean Norway likes it when people, especially Denmark looks down at him.

"Be careful with your ankle." He sighs, trying his best not to look at her legs (that jeans are too tight, where did she get that _thing _from?). "And don't run."

"Norge, please." She flashes him an obnoxious grin. "You know I know perfectly -"

He stands up, feeling rather unnerving that his head is now only up to her ears. The problem can be easily solved if he just picks her up.

"Norge!" She shrieks as he does so. "What're you -"

"Don't move. You're not light." Norway says, silently thanking the days of being a former Viking.

Her shoes are hanging off her feet awkwardly. "Norge!"

Carrying her to the bedroom seems to be the best option right now. Denmark seems to agree too, as she throws her arms around his neck and nuzzles her face into his neck, smiling.

* * *

**author note: **please review.

feel free to give any pairings.


	77. Remember

**disclaimer: **I don't care whether my sister owns Hetalia or not, I don't care whether my pen owns Hetalia or not, I simply have no ownership - maybe I should care if my pen owned the show.

**notes: **i don't know, really. is this in heaven? but i'm sure that it's after their death and nyo!germania kinds of regret for killing rome. something like that i'm not sure. it may be OOC.

for **Guest-san, **who has requested Rome/Nyo!Germania. Tricky one.

* * *

He holds her hands, so carefully as if she's made of glass, forehead pressed together as she suddenly bursts out crying, crying for all they were, for all they had been, for all they would have been. He can't remember her being like that before, for all he is worth, for everything they are worth, he can't remember her before she thrust her sword in his chest, and he hates it. He despises his mind for not being able to find any sort of nostalgia for times gone past; the memories should have been so rare that he had to sort of treasure - but now they are all covered in dust and left forgotten. And still, she's forced to see him everyday and live with the memories that are only hers (or has she already forgotten, too, since killed her past self to become her of today, to become Germania and kill Rome?). But there is that loneliness and longing whenever she looks down at her children, at _him, _and he can't never ignore completely.

\- except he's so good at pretending.

He lets her come over, anyway, telling her stories about afterlife before she comes. Short time it is, but there are still many things she doesn't know. Then occasionally, he brings her drink, or he stays over late, cooking and painting and speaking of their old lives. She is always a good listener, and there are times that Rome remembers knowing such a girl, living such a life, and it was ripped away.

(by her.)

But tonight, it isn't him that tells about it. She's speaking, spilling out everything and he can feel her pain echo throughout the room, tugging at his heart (if he still has one), running in his bones, taking a hold of his soul and turning his mind to ice. She's crying, elegant tears falling, and he, for the first time for a long time, can't do anything about it. (He's good with women, you know, but Germania has always been his best friend, his long standing shadow, and he never, ever, thinks of her in different ways. They had hidden everything so well, he remembers.) The memories, he thinks, must be somewhere in the back of his mind, it's the only way, before she finally steps into another universe, going forth into the next life.

He holds her, because it's everything he can do - because he can no longer feel. Her breath may be warm on his shoulder, his arms may be in pain because she clutches them so tightly. He thinks it's somehow his job, to keep her on this ground (not really, they are all dead but walking steadily is always better than flying aimlessly.), to keep her hopes of finding somewhere she wants to belong. She always wears such an emotionless expression when watching the children on earth before turning on her heels, but whenever she thinks he isn't looking, her eyes always search for them.

"They probably don't remember much of me." She says, after calming down a bit. "If they do, it must be a strict and demanding figure. I've done too many awful things, I don't belong here."

Heaven, she means, but Rome can't be sure it's what they call this place. Heaven is supposed to be somewhere that they can have a chance to reborn, but they are still there, walking, talking, cooking, eating.

"There must be a reason." He says, hoping that his voice sounds cheerfully enough.

"I can't find any."

His hands find her hair, silk and blonde and soft to his touch (not unlike what he can remember), hoping she can see it as a gesture of assurance. She goes very stiff at his touch, like always, before muttering a small 'Excuse me' and walking away to wash her face. When she comes back, eyes slightly widening in surprise upon seeing he's still here, he is reminded her youngest child, Germany or something like that. He holds out the liquorices in his hands.

"Do you want to have a drink?"

If the feeling deep in his core when he sees her is something other than resentment, something that seems to have lost but slowly fighting its way back, then he knows, perhaps she does belong here.

They can start something new.

"No." She says, her voice gives him a feeling of familiarity. "It isn't good for your health."

* * *

**notes: **ancient ones are so difficult. please review.


	78. Take care

**disclaimer: **everything about hetalia belongs to himapapa. and i'm too scared to deal with those two.

amebela: kill the boyfriend.

or something.

the prompt is supposed to be 'take care', which i (un)intentionally turn into 'sunshine'.

thank you, **Forest of Snowflake Blossoms.**

* * *

He's the sunshine that you have always wanted, you suppose, a perfect opposition to your gloomy rain. He's all blonde and bright smiles and shining happiness, he will never change - he will always be America (or Alfred, but whoever he is, he's still a hero, so strong and bright) and he'll never let you fall, so for once, you'll be safe, completely.

But you're never the one for safety. And you know you should feel grateful for it, but the boys like him will never last long with you, dear girl, so maybe it's for the best that you on the cold and harsh groud, with spiteful words being your only goodbye. (Still, you know there will never be any goodbye between you two, because you're Belarus and he's America and it's duty for you two to meet.)

He is bright, too bright for your own good, too perfect for your standard. You need dark to match you and fire to direct you when you get too deep into the mess (fire, not sunlight, fire, dangerous and near and real, not sunlight, bright and safe and far far away, pointless and intangible.)

You think, the kindest words you've ever told him must have been:

"Take care." It's the only thing you can say without sounding too harsh - no matter what people believe, you're not entirely heartless to crush such light.

But there is nothing sincere about those words when you say that. He might be sunshine and all, but you're always the one for the opposite.

(and there is your brother, lonely and cold and harsh and much more interesting.)

* * *

**author note: **short drabble is short, because really, i always have trouble writing belarus.

please review.

feel free to give me your pairing.


	79. important

**disclaimer: **if i were in change, some characters would have much more screentime.

so, here comes my favorite crack-pairing, IceBela. I'm dying in my tag on tumblr. Any, Belarus, such an interesting character. Why do I always write angst about you? Why can't I do you justice?

if hong kong calls iceland 'snow boy', belarus calls him 'moonlight boy'.

**HAPPY WOMEN'S DAY TO ALL MY FEMALE READERS! **

* * *

It is nothing important_, _she thinks, just like she always does. Nothing matters anymore, nothing is important anymore, just brother and sister and head held high in a cold, harsh world that is trying to push it down, to make her fall.

He isn't important, she thinks, ignores the head of silver (more like lavender) bobbing in the crowd, with the annoying sound of that bird. He is simply a boy, young and naive (with eyes that remind her so much of her brother) and she really doesn't have time for him (she hardly has time for anything these days.)

It isn't important, she thinks, gazing up at the (cold) moon, she's always the stubborn so, so she hardens her eyes in defiance.

It isn't important, but it feels nice sitting there, near the window, staring up at the moon, whose color looks like that of snow. Somehow it makes her feel better, if silvery light and darkness can make anything feel better. (Ah, she is too engulfed in darkness itself, so of course she feels _better.) _He is like moonlight, she thinks, with silvery hair and violet eyes, though less cold and more pointless. A complete and utter waste of time. If he were his brother, then maybe she could think again about it.

He isn't important, because he's as intangible as the moon and as easily melts as snow, like his brother, like her brother, but different. Not so unreal (but still too vague to her liking.) Belarus can't afford things other than love to her country and her brother, especially with an exception like him. He has always been the exception.

It isn't important, but there is a dull feeling in her chest as she looks at the moonlight that reflects on her knives, twisting it in her hands and wonders if her blood is red. She's alone there, with a cold heart and that is never how she plans her life to be.

He isn't important, she thinks as the soft voice reaches her ears. "Natalya'', she knows whose voice it is, but she doesn't turn her eyes away from the silver orb in the sky - is night sky dark blue? - because he's just a waste of time, as lovely and pointless as the moonlight (never quite in anyone's reach.)

It isn't important, but when he leaves she cuts her fingers and see the liquid fall down to the floor. It's red, it's horribly red, but she isn't never entirely human to begin with (neither is he) so it should have been fine to ignore him, right? He comes all way to find her, but it doesn't mean anything, does it? She's meant to do it alone.

It is nothing important, but she will never stop dreaming of a boy with silvery hair as bright as moonlight (moonlight boy, what a suitable name), who is her complete and utter (wonderfully) waste of time.

* * *

**author note: **please review.

**important: **please take poll in my profile


	80. Chess

**disclaimer: **no one expects to find copyrights on this site, anyway. Wonder why I'm still doing this, well.

**notes: **to my favorite crack-pairing, Norway/Hungary. I DO NOT KNOW BUT I LIKE THEM TOGETHER.

something like that.

* * *

Hungary feels a terrible headache coming as she looks at Norway, who's calmly placing a bishop in front of her. That little asshole, shows no expression at all as he's killing her. She turns her eyes to the chess board again, almost lets out a groan upon seeing how very little white is left on it, stamped out by the black.

In conclusion, strategic game and Hungary don't get along.

What has possessed her to play chess with the Kingdom of Norway, of all people?

Okay, she's been bored, but _that _bored? Why hasn't she thought of beating the daylight out of Prussia?

Her opponent keeps his disturbingly blank face - or maybe he's smirking, if she isn't imagining things, then his lips are tugging slightly. "It's not my fault."

It's like he's calling her stupid, really, just because he's brilliant at chess.

She pushes her knight into one of his pawns and asks, trying her best not to make it sound like she's gritting her teeth: "You know you are good, right? Stop looking so smart."

"I've always looked like that." He replies dryly, looking at the chess board before deciding on his move.

Hungary scowls. The reason makes her so annoyed that he's winning is that she knows he's going easy on her. If his opponent happened to be Denmark, or England, or Romania, he wouldn't hesitate to slaughter them. Annoying Norway.

She glares at him before quickly finding out that his facial expression will not change. Hungary turns her burning stare to the chess board as if it offended her in the most terrible way. Perhaps she can —- no, no, it's what Poland does, not her. Hungary will not back down from a fight, much less a game. She will not upturn the chess board. She will at least make a brilliant move.

Ah, found it!

"I - got your queen, Norway!" She exclaims, snatching the piece off the board.

Norway merely looked at her, and his violet eyes sparkle. Her victorious grin drops.

Moving his rook, he states: "And I believe, this is checkmate. I've got your King, Miss Hungary."

She stares in disbelief at the trap he manages to make her fall, before growling in anger. He easily dodges the king she aims at his head. She storms away from the table and is about to slam the door when something in her mind tugs at her conscience. Well, she's been bored and forced him to play with her (okay, what she said to him was 'let's play something interesting' and Norway obliged by replying, 'how about chess?') so he's hardly at fault, is he? It isn't his fault that he's intelligent.

She's feeling guilty now.

"Alright." She says, turning back. "I'm sorry." He's collecting the pieces when looking up at her, eyes slightly widen as he's digesting what has just happened. Hungary swears if he continues to look at her with those eyes, she will, will, will - well - hit him.

"It's nothing."

"You were just… doing what I asked. I have no right to get angry."

"I'm used to even more immature attitude."

Did she just feel guilty? Forget it. Still, Hungary nods her head and wordlessly exited the room. How dare he taunt her like that? She closes the door without sparing a glance back, and so totally misses the smile appearing on his face.

* * *

**notes: **please review.

feel free to give me your pairings.

and take my poll if you haven't.


	81. Smell

**disclaimer: **we have discussed and been over this before.

**notes: **as you probably know, i ship them. really really ship them. and macau's reaction is what i used to have upon seeing a pretty woman. Oh, don't judge. I appreciate beauty, men, women, things, animal, whatever.

* * *

"You smell good." He states calmly, as calmly as a young man can be, because when you see a beautiful woman, you're supposed to compliment her, and it's the first thing he can think of upon seeing her, tall and proud, brown jacket and feathered hat, sharp and bright blue eyes. ("Don't look at her in the eyes", China's said and Macau thinks he kind of understands now.) But instead of laughing or rolling her eyes or scowling, she looks genuinely confused for a moment, before smiling:

"And you're quite an adorable young man, but I'm not saying anything, are I?" She flicks her hair back, smiling illuminantly that makes him feel dizzy. She's different from what he's imagined (a powerful and ruthless empire, a westerner) and mixed with her lavender scent, she's beautiful, and empire in her glory and those slim chances of _maybe, she isn't bad at all _are starting to grow on him. (But he doesn't want to go with her, he can't leave China behind, he can't, not even when she's so brilliantly bright).

"I don't think someone can call a young man adorable." He states as if they were talking about the weather, which is nice by the way and her smile grows brighter if it's even possible and it almost hurts his eyes and for a moment, the smell of lavender is a bit overwhelming, with dark brown hair and blue eyes and —-

"I did, didn't I? Besides, I don't think someone can say I smell good. So, what did you smell?" He doesn't exactly like it when she looks down at him, because he is going to be taller than her for sure.

"Lavender." He replies and this time, she doesn't bother to suppress herself anymore - she bursts out laughing. "What's so funny about it?" He doesn't understand.

"It… It's nothing!" She says between laughter, and it kind of offends him before she finally, finally collects herself and says. "I… don't hear it every day."

Macau thinks he smells something like olive leaves from her, too. And it's even worse. Because she's smiling impossibly brightly and he's going to get caught eventually.

* * *

**notes: **so, just drop a review, will you? i like this pair (what kind of reason is that?)

current status: filling the request, when i have time, really. REALLY. /shot/

if you haven't taken my poll, do it, please.


	82. early sunlight

**disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia. Characters belong to Himapapa. But one day, one day...

**notes: **i made a thing. i don't know. don't ask.

this is Pottertalia. Gilbert is Slytherin, Katarina is Hufflepuff.

* * *

There is a beater's bat in her hands and her green eyes are flashing angrily (they're always like that, mind you) in the light of early morning sun, so Gilbert decides to do the sensible things and address her from the air, several metres above (the farther, the better):

"Hey, Vargas! You did wake up early!" He yells as loud as he can, and Katarina Vargas whirls to face him (is it a wand she brings with), pretty face marred with a scowl. Gilbert grins cockily and pretends that his hands hasn't made a not so awesome act of shaking.

"Shut the fuck up, Beilschmidt." She growls, and he can tell it isn't quiet. But did she just call his last name? She isn't sick, is she?

"It's Slytherin's practice, Vargas." He decides to land, since it's very likely that she'll throw the bat at him if she makes her crane her neck too much. And well, he is a very considerate young man, thank you very much.

"Screw you, potato bastard." Good, she is back to normal again. Katarina glares at him, swinging the bat threateningly and starts to move towards him, broomstick slung over her shoulder. Gilbert tries not to notice the overlarge Hufflepuff t-shirt is slipping down over that slender shoulder - and stop chirping, Gilbert - exposing an expanse of fair skin, and instead turns his gaze to meet her green eyes, acting as if he was mocking her height by looking at her. Then again, it isn't his fault that she's a shorty.

"You wish, tomato girl." He replies awesomely (don't judge, everything he does is awesome), and to be honest they should be on first-name basic now because hasn't she been dating his best friend for years and aren't they going to be in laws soon?

"Whatever you say, bastard." She snarls, and no, he isn't going to step backwards even though she's close enough to give him a punch. He can take her. "Don't you fucking say about my dating Antonio."

"Of course, Quidditch is Quidditch." Gilbert says, and has to shallow because she's standing so near and he can see the way her dark brown hair turn a little lighter under the sunlight and her eyes are really hazel and the skin of her shoulder is still a little exposed and — well, this has him dislike her, besides the fact that she's nowhere as sweet as her little sister. In all honesty, what does Antonio see in this girl? (what does he see in this girl - damn it, Gilbird, stop chirping!) She raises an eyebrow, her whole being screaming with the need to hit him with the beater's bat, and then, with a glare and so much dignity that he doesn't know she can manage, she turns and heads into the Hufflepuff changing room.

Gilbert watches her go and finally, turns his head to make a face at Gilbird. His buddy chirps, and nuzzles at his neck. Gilbert almost groans, as if today wasn't hot enough!

* * *

**notes: **that's all. please review.

i'll fulfill all request when I have time, hopefully weekend.


	83. Clumsy

**disclaimer: **nothing is mine save for the hope that some days... maybe... maybe...

**notes: **i know ukraine might be OOCs here - oh, just shut it Daphne, you know she is a fearsome older sister and can stand on her ground! Just hide behind her and Russia won't harm you.

there is an omake because i ship SuFin. I NEED THIS.

and thank** yugioratemlover** for the suggestion.

* * *

"You have a clumsy heart."

Ukraine has always been known to be a good judge of people (but no one knows whether it's a bad or good thing when she says 'little Vanya is absolutely adorable') and exceptionally talented at knowing their emotions (because she knows exactly when Belarus is happy). Some find it welcome - they don't have to talk everything to Ukraine to know. Some show their discomfort - how can one be comfortable with that? There are people having no intention of letting people know them intimately. Others find it downright unnerved, but never show their dismay because she might cry and it isn't a good thing. No one wants to make Ukraine cry, and it isn't because Russia will personally behead them, but it's because the whole scenario will sting sorely at their consciences.

And it isn't really her fault, because she herself has no idea why some people are just like glass to her. Ukraine can meet them, greet them and watch them for a few minutes before knowing. She just knows.

Sweden tends to do either of two things: stumble over his words to say his affection or struggling to show his gentler side of expression. Ukraine doesn't think he's used words for speaking out his thoughts before. (It must be why Finland is afraid of him, it'd be much easier if Sweden just said it, she's sure that Finland would listen.)

He opens his mouth to respond and, like everyone else, Sweden is lost for words and his face morphs in some form that he knows it will scare her. There's a frown and a jerk of the shoulder as if he was about to walk away.

Ukraine cuts him off with her smile. "I think it isn't always a bad thing."

To his surprise, Sweden finds himself relaxing a little.

XXXXX

**OMAKE**

"Yes, that face!" Ukraine suddenly exclaims. "This will make Finland open up to you!" Sweden is immediately tensed up again. "No, no, that won't do!"

* * *

**SHAMELESSLY ADVERTISE: I'VE STARTED A NEW FANFIC ABOUT PORTUGAL/NYO!MACAU PLEASE DO TAKE A LOOK AND REVIEW. **

**notes: **please review.

what's with the omake?

current status: hungary and finland, anyone?


	84. Garden of Roses

**disclaimer: **even the garden doesn't belong to me. so, you can get the drill.

thank **Forest of Snowflake Blossoms** for the prompt.

**friday is a busy day.**

* * *

You love her in the garden, among red roses and yellow chrysanthemums, it's how you want to remember this.

You love her in the garden, among the flowers that have sprung into bloom between your fingers, among the petals that she can caress. In the middle of this, she looks like some fierce, tropical plants transplanted into unfamiliar ground.

You love her under the cherry blossom, when pink petals fall down to her shoulder and you can make an excuse to touch her ever so lightly.

You love her under the candlelight and moonlight, her hair and eyes shining brighter than any lights that surround her.

(_Ah, but you've long been over this kind of feeling. It's just spring romance, fragile and breakable.)_

You love her beneath your fingers, caressing parts of her that others and she herself have forgotten to love; a finger thread her hair before placing a kiss on it while she's sleeping.

(that's all for you)

You loved her, you loved her, you loved her —-

She's such a bright star that you're forced to shut your eyes.

You loved —-

You _love _her.

So, you don't even hesitate when ending your alliance. You leave, and let someone else love her the same way.

(your insides break a little)

* * *

**please review. **


	85. Rain iii

**disclaimer: **Well, there has been raining a lot in my country.

**notes: **why do I have the feeling that this pairing is difficult to write? Well, when it comes to Hungary, my favorite crack-pairings with her are America/Hungary, Norway/Hungary and Russia/Hungary. PruHun is my ultimate OTP.

but Finland, Finland is too adorable, aw.

Can't believe I wrote this prompt again. Rain. It has been raining a lot lately.

thank **yugioratemlover** for your suggestion. Now only Canada/Vietnam left, haha. I'm so happy.

* * *

"Well, it's certainly inconvenient." Hungary comments slightly as she stares at the sky. After all, rain is known for its marked tendency to ruin any plans that don't involve water pouring from the sky. Today it comes in quicksilver sheet over the awning, like a glittering curtain and under other circumstances, Hungary might even find this beautiful. But it's not now, when she's frowning and has to make sure that where she's standing won't make her wet, or get rainwater across her skirt or her hair. "The sun shone brightly just an hour ago. You'd think there would have been some... warnings."

What is the weather forecast doing, anyway?

There is a soft sound of thunder rolling far away, and Hungary's frown deepens because it's likely that the rain will get heavier. Finland obviously senses it too, as he tells her:

"Well, I'm pretty sure that there was thunder while we were at the party."

She turns to him. "Now you've said that... I think I did hear it to. I thought it's the air conditioner unit flipping on. The sound is quite the same."

A bus passes by, sending water lapping hungrily at the feet and Hungary has to stop herself from grimacing as the liquid goes into her shoes and wet her socks.

Finland smiles. "Then, I guess we're going to have to stay here for a while."

Somewhat nervously, Hungary smiles back at him, replies: "Yes, I suppose we will."

**OMAKE.**

_Now I think I know why Sweden likes Finland so much. _Hungary thinks, trying to calm her frantic heartbeat, which is really difficult because she's suddenly excited for some reasons. _He is so cute when he smiles. No wonder why Sweden can't resist that! _

* * *

**notes: **I swear I don't know anything about the omake.

Please review, ladies and gentlemen!


	86. Class

**disclaimer: **neither darling is mine, I just love to eavesdrop.

so Canada and Vietnam, Matthew and Lien.

thank **yugioratemlover** for your suggestion. I hope you guys will enjoy reading this. I wrote it when my mind was all foggy and hazy.

* * *

Someone opens the door and Lien doesn't even look up from her book until a surprised voice breaks the silence she's enjoying so much. "Oh, it's you."

Somehow, she knows that means her.

Calmly closing her book, she glances at the boy standing at the door. Matthew's violet eyes are wide open in astonishment, and she still calmly observes him. Finally, his face breaks into a smile and he starts to come towards her determinedly.

When he stops in front of her desk, he smiles: "So, what're you doing here?"

If he were his twin brother, she could surely tell him to go away, but Matthew is never Alfred. And it's difficult to get annoyed at a boy who is really nice and loveable. So, she decides to reply in her normal composure:

"Waiting for the class to start."

"Oh, really?" Maybe he isn't really nice, but Lien still can't bring herself to get angry at him. "But didn't you say... Let me think." He clears his throat, and looks really pleased at himself. "_I don't have time for extracurricular activities."_

"Your impersonation of me is really bad, Matthew." She frowns, and doesn't miss the twitch of his lips as if he was trying his best not to smile. "But I think... you said that taking class together would be fun."

"Lien, you did listen to me?"

"I listen to everyone." She replies with a roll of her eyes. "And yes, everything I hear is considered important." It's a trait of her, listening, observing and not talking. He should have known it by now.

"I know." He smiles, and there is flick on her forehead, which make her eyes twitch and her lips form into a grimace, so she demands him to be quiet. It proves unnecessary, because being quiet is actually his typical trait.

Why has she decided to take this class again?

Oh yes.

Matthew.

For fun.

She opens her book, sighing.

* * *

**notes: **please review.

list of requests:

sealand/wy.

england/nyo!norway.

(may come up with something else between)

but feel free to give me pairings.


	87. candy

**disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia, even though they are micronations. THEY ARE STILL NATIONS DAMN IT.

I remember trying to tell to my teacher that Sealand is a country.

Peter and Wendy? PETER AND WENDY? WHAT AM I THINKING?

Stephano is Seborga, I think.

thank the lovely **yugioratemlover** for your suggestion

* * *

"Why," Peter begins, frowning at the sight of a smiling Wendy. "is the something giant and fluffy and pink in your hands?" If it's something that Italian gives her, he'll destroy it.

Wendy gives him a look as if to ask 'are you dumb' before explaining to him like to a two years old child. Peter decides to pretend that he isn't offended.

"It's called cotton candy. Want to try some?"

She thrusts the stick at him and Peter, can't believe in his own luck, comments. "It looks unhealthy."

She rolls her eyes. "It is." She assures him. "I'm in a good mood so I share it will you. It's really good, all melting in your mouth. Peter, be quick."

He can see she's trying to hide her enthusiasm, but decides not to comment on that. There is no way he can resist his best friend. "Alright. If I have a stomachache after this, it's your fault."

Wendy laughs, and it's such an adorable sight and Peter blushes before grabbing a handful of cotton candy and stuffing it into his mouth, waiting for a sugar rush.

It comes, and goes so quickly. "Whoa."

"I told you so." She says smugly. "It's amazing."

"It is." Peter nods. "So, where can I find it?"

At least she doesn't say Stephano gives it to her. Wendy points him the shop, and he wanders away.

Years later, when he has enough courage to kiss her, he thinks it makes sense that she tastes like cotton candy.

* * *

**notes: **nah, he just kisses the corner of her mouth, don't worry, your innocent Sea-kun is safe.

please review.

tomorrow is Italy and Romano's birthday so I can't fulfill the request for Fairy Pair yet.


	88. Cat

**disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia. I don't want mafia to hunt me down.

AND Buon compleanno Italian brothers.

at first it's supposed to be double date between Italy/NyoGermany and Romano/NyoSpain but then I got messed up with my drafts and it's turn out to be Itacest with Romano/Nyo!Italy.

yes, it contains hints of incest. if it bothers you in some way, please wait for the next chapter.

* * *

Fuck is such an excellent word, because 'fuck' is the best thing to describe his situation.

Correction.

Double fuck.

Standing besides him, trying to calm down the cause of his injury, is his younger twin. Daisy, whose face brightens with impossible happiness and adoration (which he loathes and ado - thinks it's pretty cool for her to keep smiling), does not even bother to look at her brother's dilemma, so again he asks himself why the fuck he did what he had done.

When Daisy found out there was a kitten trapped in the tree, Lovino had that very intention of walking away to let the creature find its own way. Apparently, Daisy begged to differ as she tried to rescue the cat, by throwing her boots aside and starting to climbing up. In a skirt. A fucking skirt.

So, to protect his younger sister from being looked at in the wrong way by Spain or the potato bastard, because Lovino was pretty sure that they were near by, he decided to play an heroic action that only United States of fucking America would be likely to do.

"I'm really surprised, fratello." Daisy is smiling. That girl has the gut to smile! "I don't think you are that athletic."

"What does that mean?" He attempts to shoot her a glare. He easily ascended the tree, of course, he is Lovino Vargas of South Italy after all, but the damn kitten wasn't interested in being picked up. This first thought was to punch it, make it fall out of the tree. Surely, cats know to land on their feet, don't they?

But since he is Lovino Vargas of South Italy, it wasn't totally uncool to join a glaring contest with a cat. He managed to bundle the satan under his arm, but right after he started to climb down, that fucking cat had the gut to wriggle out of his hold and scratch him! As a result, he raised his arm to touch his face and made an elegant fall.

With dust.

Luckily, they are in Italy, so his face really understands the atmosphere and heals quickly.

"Ooh, you are so adorable! Yes you are! You are." Daisy coos, a pretty haze of brown eyes and brown hair with a brown cat in her arms. That fucking cat has the gut to befriend with her rather fast, nuzzling at her chest. Damn. Lovino wants to punch it really badly. He can swear that little devil looks at him with a victorious look. If it was a human, he's sure that it could grin.

"Let it go, Daisy." He says. "We have two cats in our house already."

"That's it! That's what I'll call you! Roma!"

"WHAT?"

"Lovi, look look, he has your eyes."

Of course this cat is a male… SHE SAID WHAT?

"WHAT?"

He shouldn't have asked, because Daisy is looking at him with big eyes and she's pretty and adorable —- He shouldn't have get involved in those trouble-makers.

"Please, fratello?"

"Fine!" He exclaims, glaring at the cat one last time for good measure before walking away.

Daisy calls out to him: "Fratello, wait for me!"

He shouldn't have thought he can escape, either, as she catches his arm in a totally sisterly (ahem) way. And all he can think is that idiots cling like burrs.

* * *

**notes: **please review.


	89. Peace

**disclaimer: **I don't have enough power, really. i'm empty sort of individual.

it's supposed to be Fairy Pair, I swear, but I had school to attend so it was the only thing that left in my computer.

but still, they are my favorite.

* * *

When Adelheid sleeps, really truly sleeps (not resting in the night with her guard up too high for her own good, not eyes closing in the night with sharp ears and overly strong sense of protection), she looks less than Switzerland but more than human, peaceful and relaxing. And if one doesn't know her, one may think that she's an angel (with a shotgun hidden inside her clothes), an unworried soul (with too many troubles of a country which struggles to stay neutral) or at least she looks like being at ease (it's not like Roderich wants anyone to see Adelheid's sleeping face – in her most vulnerable moment, no doubt, but it's beside the point). There are those precious times when there are no anger and fear and bitterness and resentment and iron will in her eyes, when her brow is relaxed and she's probably dreaming of raclette, when she lets her guard down and hands unclenched, when her arms are wrapping around his torso instead of the brown tome. Roderich – he wants to be Roderich when he's with her – caresses her fingers, placing a kiss on the wrist without worrying about a scratch on his face for 'touching improperly' because Adelheid can be a heavy sleeper. He wants her to be one, she needs rest. She breathes deeply and evenly and acting more human in a few hours of sleep than she usually does when awake.

Adelheid shifts, nuzzling against Roderich's neck. He supresses a shudder as her hair tickles in his skin for fear of waking her up (he doesn't want to think of what she'll do when she wakes up and finds out they have been cuddling.), but he puts his hands lightly on her head and creats a more comfortable position to her (so that she won't shoot him when she gathers her sense). There are those precious time when Roderich feels like he's in blissful peace that he will never trade for anything.

* * *

**notes: **please review.

Fairy Pair is on the way.


	90. Coconut

**disclaimer: **Let me cry over this hardship.

so, this is Fairy Pair, even though I'm more into Norway/Nyo!England, I admit writing it is a fun experience. With magic going off everywhere.

the only failure of this chapter is I had no chance to add Romania. My fang buddy, I'm so sorry.

for** FallenAngelWings**, hope you like it.

* * *

"Now the butter cream." Norway instructs with a professional air, gesturing her hands as England carefully cover the cake with the white and sticky substance. Well, if he isn't careful, it's very likely that she'll snatch if off his hands and do it herself, but Norway, who takes the responsibility to teach England how to decorate cakes properly, is a very patient and considerate teacher. "Watch it." She says, grabbing the knife, stopping a large blob from falling onto the floor. "Please be careful. You're doing alright."

"You don't need to tell me that." England says tiredly as he continues to spread the butter cream. "I know it looks terrible."

"Of course." She nods. "You're not France." Yes, mentioning his frog to get him worked up. No, Norway, it doesn't work this time. Clearly reading it from his face, she sighs. "That's enough for today." And with a flick of her hands, the knife and all other utensils float over the sink, all lined up and ready to be washed.

"You're abusing your magic."

A flick of her hair.

"I don't care that much. I'll finish all the messes," she emphasizes, "and you'll go to get the coconut. No objection."

With a grunt, England starts to rummage in the cupboards. No objection, she's said, and he doesn't want his face to be stabbed with knives. He finds the coconut and passes it to her, right when she's busy arranging the dishes. Her hands slip and drop it. White coconut spill on the kitchen counter while Norway just stares and stares and England gets nervous.

"Norway, are you alright?" He hesitates.

"I am." She replies, before sweeping the coconut from the counter into her hands. "I'll put it back."

"Okay." England nods. Wrong move. Before he knows it, he's met with a face full of white dust, which results his sneezing. "Y - You!"

"What's about me?" She shots back, her hands are now empty.

England grits his teeth, grabbing the tub, shaking it over her hair, making it whiter. Something flickers in her eyes and he knows what it is. She takes the tub from him forcefully, and England runs through the living room, Norway following close. She casts a spell at him, and the coconut suddenly flies in its free will, attacking England's head mercilessly.

"You're serious?" England asks, his hair covered with the white dust.

"Am I?"

"You... I won't hold back!"

"Good, bring it on!"

And the room turns into an explosion of white. After the spell wears off, there is coconut everywhere, on the couch, on the table, on the window. Norway looks like a ghost, with white hair and white skin and white shirt, when England isn't better, because he's sneezing repeatedly.

Norway stops suddenly, casting a look around the room. "Ice is going to very angry."

"He's going to kill me, isn't he?" England asks as the chirping sound of a bird appears along with a clicking sound of the door.

* * *

**notes: **please review.

just check the reviews and i was like 'what i've forgotten about estonia and nyo!latvia why have I failed myself this way'.

suggestion?


	91. Fairytales

**disclaimer: **Neither darling is mine, just the headache my dear.

i have a tendency to mess up my schedule so today i got home when it was like 8 PM so I couldn't sit in front of my computer for long.

sorry for the shortness, **Zilan.**

**MORE IMPORTANTLY, SORRY FOR THE WAIT, AHHHHHHH.**

**Still..**

Today is International Day of Happiness, so I hope you will be happy!

* * *

She is sitting under the tree, reading a book, pretty like a picture with wavy blonde hair neatly arrayed over her small shoulders and her blue eyes shine with eagerness as she scans the books.

"Oh, hello there Latvia." Estonia greets, voice soft so that he won't startle her, and Latvia looks up at him with a gentle smile.

"Hello to you too, Estonia." Her voice sounds cheerful. "What are you doing here?"

He smiles at her. "It's really tiring after looking at the computer all day, and Lithuania is spending time with Poland again. What are you reading?"

"This? It's a fairy tales book from Mister England. He says there are over one hundred of them, I can read it to relax."

Estonia's surprised. "Fairy tales? I think you know all of that…"

"You're never too late to read them." She says patiently. "Read it, and you'll know why."

It's hard to refuse when her eyes are brighter than the sun and bluer than the sky, so he nods: "I guess so." Her whole face lightens up with a childlike happiness, and he tries his best to remain his composure as she hands him the book.

Later, he admits that she's right. You are never too old to read fairy tales, especially good ones.

* * *

**notes: **hope you enjoy.


	92. Maddeningly

**disclaimer: **I don't see Himapapa hand his ownership to me, so...

for **Seriously Troublesome. **I hope you like it.

i just love Nyo!Russia terribly and you know it.

* * *

There is something maddeningly beautiful about the way the world falls around her like broken pieces of glass and cutting her skin - oh, tell him something he doesn't know.

It is some tantalizing combination of falling and dying stars and broken breaths as the world he has built, so determinedly and brutally, starts to shake at the very foundations, crumbling without any mercy. All the world is watching, all the world is burning, and he's holding the gun against her forest and she merely twists her fingers before toppling his strength with hers, beating him with power and dominance, sending him crashing to the floor and holding the cold gun against his temple.

And she smiles, achingly painful and chillingly cold with the unbreakable will to give him to the hands of Death.

(Death has never scared him anyway, for he's a part of it. All lives have their ends, but tragedies last forever, and her hands are so cold.)

It's like several years ago all over again, the moments of glory and power twist and crumble like broken glasses, cutting his flesh and destroying his bones. She looks at him from above, violet eyes bright with the greatest tragedy as she brings his world down. She looks down at the world as if she was above them all, and she is as the world falls in fragments around her and it hurts him because she seems to never realize the pain.

Still, he will never surrender to her, he will never abandon ship anyway, because he knows he's the challenge that keeps her going.

(There are many great tragedies in her eyes, and everyone knows the greatest of them all is love.)

* * *

**notes: **the greatest tragedy is love and history's poetry have truth hidden behind them.

please review.


	93. autumn

**disclaimer: **neither darling is mine, but that doesn't prevent my using them. How much fun is that?

you'd think i'd write a happier chapter since that last one is angsty.

wrong.

wrong.

it's loosely based on my headcanon that Nyo!China hates autumn and England smells suspiciously like autumn to her.

for more information, read chapter 72, my proud child for this pairing.

for **callmeasinnercallmeasaint.**

* * *

("You smell like autumn."

"What makes you say that?")

She absolutely hates autumn, absolutely hates the way everything seems to be dying at this time of year. It's hard to take care of the peonies this time, and it's somewhat unnerving to see the rose scatter petals on the ground with the fluttering leaves. The stones appear colder and uglier, all blue and grey. Such a terrible combination of color.

China winces as she tucks her hair behind her ears to keep it whipping around her face. Where are her hair ties when she needs them most? There is a bite in suddenly chilling air that didn't exist the day before - oh, how she misses yesterday, the taste of summer is becoming so tempting now.

But then, even the oldest (and wisest) nation in the world can't travel back in time, to make autumn turn to summer.

There is something hollow in her chest when autumn comes, for there used to be another standing by her side when she gazed up at the sky. (They say the moon is the most beautiful in the fall, but China no longer thinks that - the moon doesn't matter once you've been living for so long.)

Pulling her coat qipao closer to her body, China casts her eyes over the large park. There are a few others there - always in pair, and there is a sharp pain shot through her chest, making her stomach twist. A man in a woman, always in pair.

(there used to be a pair of green eyes that looked at her as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world -)

She sits on the bench, silently laughing at herself for getting so sentimental, because really how old is she? She watches them and feels the gnarled branch of a rose bush (so red, but not as big as Tudor rose) dig into her hands, reminding her that she's alone. She watches the petals scatter, in a deep shade of red, like blood, like her favorite color, like his nightmare.

Back in old days, she didn't come here alone.

(there used to be a golden light that smelt sickeningly sweet like autumn -)

But those days are long gone.

(green and golden, flashes colour cloud her mind.)

* * *

**notes: **149 reviews? make it more, guys.


	94. Seashell

**disclaimer: **Oh, the seashell and I are friends.

so, Hong Kong/Seychelles is one of my favorite I don't even know.

* * *

By the ocean, collecting colorful seashells - that's where he always finds her when she suddenly disappears to collect her thoughts. It's kind of become tradition now, that's why she isn't even surprised to hear his voice, lack of emotions as usual, "Seychelles" behind her as she's looking for the glimmer of seashells among the sand.

"Hong Kong," she acknowledges, not even turning around - she knows what he looks like, and she knows there is a twinkle in his eyes, that's all matter. "Isn't it your sleeping hour or something?"

"It's everyone's sleeping hour, according to England." He retorts, half-wanting to reach out his head and twist her hair to make her turn to face him.

"Screw England. So, what're you doing here?"

"What're you doing here?"

He knows she's rolling her eyes. "Collecting seashells, of course. Your turn."

"Watching you collecting seashells. How many have you found?"

"Eleven." She sounds disappointed. "I'd expected to find more. Why'd you ask?"

He smiles - she smiles back, because he always asks that and she's already had the answer. "There aren't many, right? Mind if I joined you?"

"Not at all." She beams. "How about a competition? Whoever finds more seashells is winner."

"Deal." He takes the challenger and lowers himself to collect them until midnight bleeds orange and gold dawn light.

* * *

**notes: **please review.

updates may not be frequent this week due to exams.

**a reminder: **please take my poll if you haven't.


	95. moonlight

**disclaimer: both hetalia and moonlight do not belong to me.**

**So, america/nyo!russia because i feel like it.**

* * *

The first thing he notices about her is how brilliantly her hair is shining under the moonlight (it's a shade of diamon, he supposes, but diamonds are hard and Alfred prefers soft things.)

The second is wondering why the hell she's outside at half-past midnight, in the cold blow of wind - doesn't she hate the cold or something?.

The third is wondering why the hell he has to wondering, because he's in the exact position, except that he's out here to fulfil a dare. A hero never refuses a challenge, thank you every much.

Unless it comes to Anya Braginskaya.

"Good evening, Braginskaya." He says eventually, because it's no use escaping when her eyes seem to know everything around her.

Her eyes narrow slightly at the sight of him (oh, what's new?) before smiling:

"What are you doing here, mister hero?"

Oh gosh, he hates her.

"I'm should be the one asking. What're you doing out here? Are you hiding from your brother? In a freezing cold?"

"What is it to you?" She retorts, and there is a note in her voice that tells him not to press furthur. Alfred is not stupid enough to challenge a moody girl, however. He will never hear the end of it from Arthur if, you know, Braginskaya suddenly breaks his wrist.

"Nothing. But I still say you'd better go in." He says and walks a way, finding some one else to complete his deal with, because kissing Anya Braginskaya is never an intelligent opinion.

(then again, who is him if he just does what people consider as intelligent?)

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**Please review. **


	96. Twilight

**disclaimer: **Active the Disclaimer's special ability. This card will protect me from being sue by the creators of Hetalia!

..

I'm sorry, I've been watching YGO Duel Monsters lately. Yes, I told myself to watch V Arc and now I'm downloading Duel Monsters.

**Warnings: **this chapter contains incest. If you read on, please don't comment anything rude.

thank **Forest of Snowflake Blossoms** for the prompt: Twilight.

* * *

Maybe it's because whatever they have is shiny and bright, but it's not beautiful, and even Norway, who spends her life finding the beauty of the world, believing that after dark days, everything will be pretty again, can see that truths aren't beauty. It's not beautiful, it can be everything, it can be described by many words, but not beautiful and its synonym. It's nothing something to be shown, because they're so related.

But that doesn't keep them from slipping into the shadow, meeting in the twilight, when the house is dark and Denmark is out and only the sky to watch them.

Because a brother shouldn't be kissing his older sister, and a sister should be more responsible than letting her younger brother into that sort of things. And they both know it, and maybe it's because that the affair is a secrecy that they (more like, she) decide to keep it going.

That's the reasonable explanation, because Norway knows that she is reasonable - but Iceland, Iceland is always her exception in everything, isn't he? She reads the mutter of love on his lips before he leans down and kisses her, and sees the nature in how he places his hands at the back of her neck, as if they belonged here.

Maybe that's why she tells him to stop each time, with the threat of telling everyone about that.

("What can you say, Norge? Telling them that you've seduced me? Telling them that I'm not the one at fault?" Because even if she says, she will manage to keep his safe from all the bad)

And then Iceland will vanish into the dim light of twilight, opens the door of her room and is gone in a second, taking the beauty of it with him, because they themselves and their love have no beauty, and they will never ever have.

Because after Iceland, twilight becomes twilight and the secrecy of love is gone.

(He always comes back the day after, and kisses her. She always tells him to stop, but lets him do whatever he wants.)

* * *

**author note: so, i come back with Iceland/Nyo!Norway, the two last time had been from Iceland's POV, so I wrote one from Norway's. **


	97. Wish

**disclaimer: **I own nothing but my own pitiful butt.

actually, this chapter was for yesterday, Greece's Independence day. But I got back too late from school and frankly, didn't have time.

I had nothing left but an already-saved chapter about Iceland/Nyo!Norway.

so, happy belated birthday, Greece.

* * *

"We need to talk, Turkey.", you say, "Can you just sit down?"

There is that cold look in her eyes before she smiles.

"If you insist."

(and boy, it's started.)

* * *

There is a cat nuzzling at your legs and admittedly, it does bring some comfort, and you open your mouth to tell her what's wrong.

(the thing that you've been telling her for ages in a not-so-gentle-way.)

And you pray to Zeus that she'll listen this time.

(you swear this time, there will be no holding back. it's time for you to gain the freedom you've been wanting.)

* * *

She doesn't even raise her voice. Greece, is this what you want?

And you don't even hesitate. Yes.

(on second thought, maybe you can grant her one last chance - oh, who are you kidding, she's the Ottaman Empire, she doesn't need granting anything.)

(but does she want you to stay?)

She looks at you, long and hard, before bursting out laughing.

_God, you're just like that woman. You're just like your mother._

* * *

And you tell her if she hates his mother so much, she shouldn't take him in.

There is so many things you don't understand, she snorts, young one. Now, do you not want to go.

(You swear to god -)

You aren't the type to give up easily, you say to her.

She doesn't smile this time. Just go already, she says, I'm tired of dealing with you.

Nothing can be saved.

* * *

As you walk out of the door, you wonder if you know how to save her life.

(she's the Ottaman Empire, she doesn't need saving.)

(the day after tomorrow, this empire is no more.)

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**notes: **please review.


	98. Rollerblade

**disclaimer: **you should know it by now.

so, Russia/Nyo!Poland for** Zilan** and **an avid fan. **I am sorry that it takes so long.

feedbacks are appreciated.

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"You, like, look ready."

Russia glances at the girl besides him, eyebrow raising and replies in his calmest tone: "Of course I am always ready."

"I'm saying you look ready to crush the poor thing with your weight." Even though he takes it as an insult, Russia's background doesn't allow him to hit a girl, so he forgets his pipe and rolls his eyes instead.

"Why, exactly, do you think that I should be nervous?"

"Well, you said that you had never done that before. America once crashed and had his head bleed."

"I'm not America." Russia says. This is really simple. He only needs to remain on his centre of balance and the rest will fall into pieces.

Poland shakes her head, a way of saying she doesn't believe him at all, before making her way over the street. Russia watches her, feeling irritated as she has her hands tucked neatly behind her back. He gains his footing and smiles a little as the wheels under his feet start to glide. It is really simple.

Using the technique that he's seen her employ, he gently cocks one foot and pushes himself forward (gently, gently because her words might be true, he might crush the thing.). He throws out his arms to steady himself and starts switching foot, before realising that he's moved - erm, a little too quickly.

The sight of a large man of 182 cm landing painfully on his back seems to amuse Poland, as she hurriedly covers her mouth with her hands to hide her laughter. The rest will fall into pieces? He will never use this phrase again, especially when it comes to learning how to rollerblade.

"Russia" He hates it when she calls his name in that sing-song tone, the same tone she uses when she is laughing at others' pain. Poland is gliding towards him, with a despicable ease. "Are you alright?" Shooting her what he thinks a glare, he gallantly pushes himself up into sitting position, before replying firmly.

"Never better."

"That's good to here? Can you stand up?" No intention of helping him, go figure. "Or... maybe you've, like, given up?"

"In your dream." He says firmly as he brushes the dust off his clothes. "I am persistent."

"That is, like, the key." She nods in approval.

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**notes: never thought of this pair.**

**one of the reason i'm slow at updating is because i am waiting for the 160th review. **

**just kidding. **


	99. Haze

**disclaimer: **honestly, no one reads this line anyway.

i feel like writing Lithuania so I write him.

this is my otp, with the name: kill me heal me.

go figure.

* * *

Being in love? Well, congratulate, you're in a haze now.

Your mind seems to be somewhere else, thinking about one person. You're in the constant state of 'wow I'm so in love how is it possible to be that in love with someone what have I done to deserve this' and you seem to never get out of it, never get enough of it; not that you want to, anyway, because this state is somewhat euphoric.

The only time that you aren't in haze is when that person isn't near you, in your head and your mind and your soul. But if they are, they are everything you can focus on, all you can see and sense. And you don't give a damn if they are, because _darling, nothing else matters. _You're happy, and you make them happy, and honestly, that is the most important thing in the world. You're falling, but you don't care.

In a haze, you'll do all the stupid things and say all the idiotic things but it's out of love. Your heart will control your actions and your head will control your talking. You're completely and utterly trapped, all because of one person.

Being in love?

Welcome to Lithuania's life, a endlessly haze loop of Belarus. Enjoy your stay.

* * *

**notes: **yo, one more chapter until 100.

I can't believe that I've lasted that long.

Enjoy your reading time.

And take my poll if you haven't.


	100. haircut ii

**disclaimer: **why am I still doing this.

for **Guest-san, **I think.

Denmark/Belarus and South Korea/Vietnam have to wait.

My headcanon for Romano/Nyo!Prussia: He treats her pretty well, but he doesn't treat her like any ladies.

Does anyone get what I mean.

* * *

"Prussia," Romano starts, with all the patience he has (which are not much, for your information), "You have to do something about your hair." So, let's check the history of it. He doesn't know how she has managed to tame them since she decided to grow them in 18th century, but now, it certainly doesn't get along well with him. Today, within 2 hours, that damn, normally nice, hair has managed to catch on four doorknobs and a drawer, pulls out a pot off the stove (which, fortunately for her, wasn't on that time.)

She dismisses the idea immediately. "No, my hair is awesome. It's the stuffs that keep getting in the way."

"Tsk, woman, are you serious? What if it gets caught on something and it pulls?" No no, it sounds like he's worried about her. "You'll yell and your voice is annoyingly loud, after all."

She frowns, apparently considering it, having hair pulled isn't a fun idea, but her lips are set into a stubborn line, which makes Romano groan: "No. I've been dealing well with my hair and I will be."

"Dealing well? Remember the fucking stove this morning? What would have happened if it had been turned on?" Oh, that does have some effects. He sees his chance. "You should cut your hair."

"No." The answer comes out too quickly for Romano to register. "Fritz didn't want me to cut my hair."

"Who cares about your old man? He's been -" No, no, Frederick II is not to be mentioned with the 'dead' word in front of Prussia. And trust him, you don't want to get on Prussia's bad side. "Anyway, I am pretty sure that he doesn't want you to get hurt because of your hair."

Prussia's frown deepens. "Sound about right. Where is the scissors?"

He can't let her do this herself, because her hair will end up really terrible when she finishes. Trust Prussia to hold her sword and slice her enemy, trust Prussia to shoot at the head of her enemy, but don't trust Prussia to have a nice haircut herself.

"You could just ask the wine bastard. No, it's a bad idea. The tomato bastard... forget it. It seems we don't have any other way. I'll cut your hair."

Prussia's lips press tightly together, as if he forced her to do something she didn't want. Oh, who is he kidding? That damn woman, though ripped from her nationhood, is still a terrible soldier, he's an Italian, he's not born to fight with someone like her. But he certainly knows thing about fashion.

"Just let me cut it." He offers, and she'd better agree quick because it's not like he's kind everyday.

She picks up her hair, examining them with eyes hold so many memories that he doesn't know and doesn't want to, and finally, finally she asks:

"Just... can it wait until tomorrow?" He doesn't know that she can pull out such a miserable expression.

Oh, his patience snaps.

"Fine! I'll braid it so you can keep it!"

Oh fuck, tell him he didn't say what he thinks he said.

"Really?" She brightens immediately. "Romano, your awesome level has increased!"

"I don't fucking need it!"

* * *

**CONGRATULATE ME ON WRITING THE 100TH CHAPTER YAY.**

**I'll take down the poll soon.**

**Thank your for all your support.**

**All want me to continue, haha. **


	101. Dinosaur

**disclaimer: **oh, the sky is so blue. I MEAN.

so, south korea and vietnam... i don't really know. I ship her more with China and America, to be honest.

*Noona means big sister in Korea. It's the way little brothers call their big sisters. Little sisters would call Unnie, I believe.

* * *

He is looking so intently on the towering, browned skeleton of the dinosaur that she fears that his eyes are going to fall down. She can't really blame him, though, because dinosaur is one of the creatures that existed before them, a kind of creature that none of them had chance to meet. The tour through the natural science museum makes South Korea shut up for once in his life (don't ever tell America that she's kind of grateful for that.) As Vietnam isn't that interested in the thing, she tries to kill her time by looking at the amused living _person _in front of her.

"It's so huge..." South Korea says in awe, shaking his head. "That T-Rex is so big! It must have come from Korea!"

She doesn't know what it comes from, honestly. Vietnam glances at the skeleton, "I am certain that it's a Muttaburrasaurus."

"Muttaburr-WHAT? Noona, can you say human language? It might be from Korea, but it was before me."

"Muttaburrasaurus." She says impatiently, oh, how she wants to hit him. Clearly, he's been spending time too much with America. "You can realise it because it had smaller head and longer arms, and it's a herbivore." And clearly, she's spending too much time with Russia too, because she can say her voice has sarcasm.

However, he's making a face as if he's incredibly proud of her - a face, in her opinion, should belong to China only - before saying: "It is still huge, I wonder how long it took them to build it."

She studies the skeleton for a moment - "Longer than you can take it down." Yes, it's huge.

"Hey!" He looks offended, putting a hand on his chest and looking at her like she's said something terribly wrong and no, she isn't guilty. "I'm not that clumsy!"

"Learn to accept it as a compliment." She says dryly, stepping aside to avoid his hug.

"But..." South Korea doesn't know how to give up. "Noona, you're not saying it as a compliment."

At least he can still read her.

"Suit yourself."

He displays his displeasure by making an attempt to hug her again.

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**note: **please review.


	102. Control

**disclaimer: **I am still doing this, I can't believe.

sorry that it is sort of mess, i don't even know what I am rambling about.

* * *

"Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past."

Norway has a tendency to use quote when he decides to make a vague talk, and Denmark hardly pays attention, but when something does, it stays in his mind, like a ghost that refuses to leave. And believe him, he knows ghost can be persistent.

He knows the quote when he hears it, and he knows it won't do much (that a glare and a curt nod in middle of meeting or business never mean anything) but still he decides to try, hoping that he'll find some way to make her stop her self-destructive spiral.

She lets herself be tormented by everything she's done, every moment of being a country. (Who doesn't? But Denmark has the feeling that she takes it the hardest of them all, with the ways she cuts through things and chases after Russia, as if breaking glass and scattering the pieces on her skins, as if wanting to believe that if she bleeds enough, she can die.) She lets herself mourn for every fragile life that she's taken, every heart that she scatters, and then forgets them right after that.

She's far too caught up, far too independent, far too worried about Russia, but he's got the idea that if he controls her, he may control her memories and make her see things that Russia doesn't - and Russia, he's always too busy standing on his own world to spend time for her, because he thinks it's the only way he can mend their relationship. Do not ask Denmark why he understands, he just does. And if he's able to control her past, maybe, just maybe, he can control her present, her future.

Well, that is his logic, anyway.

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**notes: **please review.


	103. Reading glasses

**Do you feel surprised that I am not dead. I'm surprised too. **

**The fact is... I've lost wifi and this piece was written in my Information Technology class. Yo.**

**Make sure that teacher knows nothing of this. **

* * *

"I didn't realise you were going to blind."

China doesn't expect her to speak up nor does he bother to hide his surprise when Vietnam takes a seat next to him. She stares at him with eyes - color likes his and China's suddenly realised that they haven't been on speaking term lately.

"Uhm... what?"

(There are glasses perched on his nose like they've meant to be there for all of his life - well, except that he's five or more thousand years old - and he does look good in it, but it's not like she is going to say anything.)

His sister is looking, and erm, looking quite a bit.

"You heard what I said."

He's going to have a word with Thailand later. He's entrusted his sister to him - seeing how the boy claims to be her best friend - and now she's learnt the bad habit very well: not answering China's questions.

"I am not that old." Okay, maybe it's the wrong thing to say, but India is as old as him, right? "It's just... reading glasses."

(Of course she knows what they are, but they look good.)

"So you're going to be old and blind."

Where has she learnt that from?

"Did you -"

"But it suits you, of course, old man."

(She might smile a little bit at him, but it's not like she's going to say anything, right?)

* * *

**it's been long time since I wrote China and Vietnam.**

**Believe me, I know she likes to mess with him.**

**please review. **


	104. Good

**Ameviet **for APHUnitedNations.

yes, you're right it's been ages since the last chapter about them, haha.

* * *

America (maybe she should think of him as Alfred, for once) isn't good with girls (especially Vietnam).

She can tell, and honestly, it's alright. She doesn't think she's good with the opposite gender either, especially not France, who is all charming and polite or Italian brothers, who are sweet and caring. They aren't China - old and wise and they are certainly not America - younger and sort of awkward. They smile and take her hand and leave a kiss on the back of it before smiling charmingly and it makes her feel so unsure, even though she likes to know more.

Maybe someday she'll know about the world well enough and can show that to Alfred. If he ever asks, of course.

(She has already known many thing that he can't never learn, but she doesn't think of that. Living for four thousand years doesn't mean you know more about the outside world as much as the younger. She isn't China, in her youth, she never had time to learn much.)

It's okay if he doesn't though. He has many things ahead of him, a dozen responsibilities as a country and a human that she knows perfectly, and it's even more important that he should keep growing (though if he didn't do that, just ate and got fat, she'd still like him). She has her own things to do too - only god knows how long she's been keeping this sort of feeling forgotten - and so even when it's quite lonely and there is no Alfred nearby, being awkward and well not really know what to say, Vietnam (Lien, she thinks) doesn't have trouble waiting.

(- and whenever they meet, he places a kiss on the back of her hand and smiles brightly at her.)

* * *

**notes: **please review.

recently, i've gotten into sword boys hell so the update is slow.

and wifi.

of course.

WIFI.


	105. Hurricane

**disclaimer: **no, I don't own Hetalia. And I'm not dead, just about to.

* * *

She loves like a hurricane, when everyone least expects it; they all expect that gentle and sweet girl to love like refreshing breeze on spring's days. Like a slow, soothing body of water that flows and sways out of the dense rocks, they expect shy smiles and small kisses and cuddling by the bed when she's hugging him like a pillow.

How wrong they are, he knows.

She loves angrily, almost. She loves like a destructive twist of the tornado, loves like a crazed twirl of emotions with an pain throbbing in her chest. She loves like a racing beat under a broken chest - pumping and pumping and craving for air. She loves like a twister, she loves intensely (so intensely that he finds it hard to breath, to look, to catch up). She loves like a thousand stars exploding in a supernova turning into a black hole, bright eyes (or are they darks?) pulling him deep in, in and in until all he can feel and can see is the curve of her jawline and her lips against his own.

She deserves it. She deserves to that desperate love, because she's used to intensity than calm. She's used to fighting, running and struggling and pain and loss even before she gets a chance to be used to being calm and sweet - gentle hugs, sweet kisses. She wants the passion, she wants the fiery desire of love and the burning sense in her every inch. She deserves the calm, he tells himself, but he can't bring himself to give her what she doesn't want. He's what she wants, and she won't give him away.

(and he learns to live with the hurricane.)

* * *

**author note: does it even make sense? **


	106. Diamond

**disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia. Waiting for the new season. And I know nothing of history now.

well, England's POV.

requested by** Fantasy Night.**

Now I'm back to uni entrance exam. Long time before the next update, I'm sure.

THANK YOU FOR ALL SUPPORTING.

* * *

England isn't in love, until the moment when he realises he is in love (and the moment he realises he is in love - it is absolutely terrifying, because they barely know each other. Sure, he's heard of her, the country named Prussia - and he remembers sneering at that - a figure in his life, a shadow in his history, an ally that British Empire has chosen, a sigh escaping his lips -

Her eyes glinting with two colors and her hair looks like containing too many diamonds)

Her name is Julchen, he hears, and there is no reason for Arthur - _or England -_ to fall in love with her, and there was never a reason to fall in love with her. (He met her, when his princess got marry to her prince. They looked at each other, and he met a unique color of the eyes, and there was a spark, but it didn't begin love. He just felt challenging. He just felt inspiration, maybe, a new reason to fight.) But they're countries, aren't they? They always have reasons to fight - their people, their glory, the honor - all the things that get they bleed and leave them forgotten.

(There are plans created to win. They won't allow defeats. Britain only allies with the strong. She fights and breathes and bleeds, and he may respect her for it but it isn't love. He isn't in love.)

He isn't half in love with her (what's half in love, anyway? He doesn't do that. He always makes sure) until he is half in love with her. But love is a kind of history, repeating and repeating and you don't even know when it has started. You don't know when it begins and when it ends. You're flooded by it. But love follows a certain pattern, right? Begin, heartbreak, end and something in between.

(Being in love or being half in love isn't that important. Because either way, you're in love.)

England doesn't know where he is -

He is in love.

There is always a reason to fight, he thinks, when she points her gun at him (gun, they no longer used swords, and England can't help thinking that seeing a Prussia without swords is somewhat insulting.), eyes burning with the fire of war, and he's suddenly reminded of the passion for battle, long time ago.

(her hair flashes orange under the fire, but there are still so many diamonds.)

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**notes: **i named nyo!prussia diamond queen for a reason.


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